


Lampadaires Sous la Pluie

by xuantime



Series: L'horloge [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fantasy, Immortality, M/M, Royalty, Slow Burn, Time travel kinda, Worldbuilding, don't worry about the summary everything will be explained in the story, political elements, sci fi, semi-angst, these idiots take a while to understand, universe hopping, victuuri fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuantime/pseuds/xuantime
Summary: Yuuri is an elite, the best of the Time Arbitrators. As the youngest member of the formidable Scythes Squadron, he swears loyalty to the all-encompassing Organization. At least until whispers of a silver haired man and long-buried secrets reach his ears. Even shadows can hide in  light, and as the cold truth reveals itself, so can forbidden questions.Or: a game of cat-and-mouse, complete with irresponsible scythe-waving.





	1. Prologue

“Please! Teach me how to use the Lapse!” 

Yuuri’s request comes out breathy and impatient, and he knows it. The tinge of desperation that clings to the air is almost tangible, matching the dirty clouds that hang heavily in the autumn sky. The room is dark, and only fuzzy outlines of antique armchairs are visible to the human eye. 

Neither Yuuri nor the old man he speaks to is human. 

Both inhabitants of the room can see fine embroidery stitched into large velvet curtains and the numerous porcelain teacups scattered across a dainty dresser. 

"No," the old man replies. Then the man stretches his arm to grab a teapot. With a steady hand, he quickly pours the steaming liquid into two cups. After taking a sip, the old man gestures at Yuuri and raises an eyebrow.

"Well?"

Yuuri picks up the teacup and downs it all in one go. He sets the cup down and stares directly into the eyes of the old man. 

"Why not?"

The old man sighs and then also sets down his cup. 

"Youngsters nowadays," the man grumbles. "When I was your age I had to climb three mountains every day for a year and a half before my teacher even thought about letting me hold a pair of scissors, let alone a Time Scythe." 

Then, in the blink of an eye, the old man raises his eyebrow again and, with a flick of his wrist, aims a long needle at Yuuri's face. 

Yuuri steps to the side in an almost imperceptible manner, and the needle flies past his ear; impaling a stray teacup that sat on top of a low shelf. 

"You're a quick one," the old man cackles. "Alright then, I'll humor you. What do you want?"

Yuuri clenches his jaw.

"Train me. Show me how to use the Lapse."

The old man's face drains of its mirth, and his long white hair brushes the side of his face he slowly shakes his head. 

"I have already said no."

"It is all I want."

"Look here boy," the old man says. "I commend you for having the guts and resources to actually find me. But I will not, _will not_ , teach you to use that damn Lapse. You're fourteen at best, what will you do?"

"I need the Lapse," Yuuri whispers. "I'm not anything right now. I need to be better than this. I don't have anything but if I had the Lapse-!" 

Yuuri's voice grows louder and louder until he's close to screaming.

"Please, Clockmaster! You can teach it to me!" 

The old man, the _Clockmaster_ , stands up and grabs Yuuri by the shoulders with trembling hands. 

"Is this because of that blasted new Junior Promotion Program?"

"What?"

"Answer me!" The Clockmaster snarls. "Is this because of the Junior Promotion Program?"

Seconds tick by until Yuuri mumbles a reluctant 'yes'.

The Clockmaster yanks his hands away from Yuuri and turns to face two arching windows. It's raining heavily now, with lightning flashing across the sky.

"You don't need the Lapse," the Clockmaster says. "What would a kid like you do with Class A techniques anyways? You don't even have the tools to activate a Lapse. Besides," the Clockmaster turns around and looks at Yuuri, "you're a Time Arbitrator. It doesn't matter if you get a promotion now or in the next century. It's not like you'd ever run out of time."

"You don't understand!" Yuuri wrings his hands together and stares down at the plush carpet. 

"This is for me! If I never show new skills- never show talent- then it won't matter how much time I have. I'm disposable! A dime-a-dozen Arbitrator that the Organization could replace without a moment's hesitation." 

Yuuri gasps for air and struggles to keep his voice even. "You're my last hope, Clockmaster. I know I'm not much but please. Please."

The quiet desperation that was once in the air now blankets over them, smothering the two figures under a layer of misplaced hope. The Clockmaster can't help but pity the boy. 

"I'm sorry," he begins. His tone is heavy, and his age finally shows through the bitter expression on his face. "You're much too young to have to worry about inter-organizational politics. You have promise; just not experience. Be patient Yuuri."

In that instant, the Clockmaster seems like a very old, very weary man. 

"We all know that prominence is to rock as talent is to scissors. You do have talent Yuuri, but you can't cut your way through the ranks with skill alone."

Yuuri lifts his head and fixes his eyes, brown and piercing, on the Clockmaster. 

"You did it. You patented the Lapse, all on your own, at the age of nineteen. You rose through the ranks, all on your own. You did it!" 

"That was a long time ago." 

The Clockmaster pauses and says, "I was young then. And boy?"

"Yes?" Yuuri replies. 

"That was before the Organization destroyed the only thing that made me happy. My son."

Yuuri doesn't know what to say to that. Nothing and no one had ever mentioned the Clockmaster's _son_.

"Bet you didn't see that one coming, did you?" 

The Clockmaster laughs, but it's harsh and grating- nothing like the exuberant sound Yuuri had heard before.

"But never mind that," the Clockmaster dismisses. "There's no love lost between the Organization and me, and I'd hate for those bastards to sink their claws into you. Be patient and train your mind and body; you'll be popular enough to catch their attention soon."

"Then what am I supposed to do? You tell me to be patient and train but what does that even mean? I'm not a goddamn movie protagonist! I don't know _how_ to train!" 

Yuuri hates boiling feelings of hopelessness but he's clueless. Without guidance, he's nothing.

"You dumb kid." 

The Clockmaster groans and reaches up to ruffle Yuuri's hair. 

"Arbitrators exist solely to fix errors in space-time, and in the space-time of universes other than Universe One. You idiots exist to help the world, not to cause drama. Go home, Yuuri. Go enroll in advanced courses or something and practice. And for the love of all that's good, take some assignments and work your way up. You can't expect to stop a mass genocide if you can't even prevent a minor traffic collision." 

"You know," Yuuri says. "You're an Arbitrator too, Clockmaster." 

The Clockmaster quirks his lips and slaps Yuuri on the back, causing the boy's glasses to fly off his face.

"I'm retired. But you get the point now, kid?" The Clockmaster asks. "You aren't nothing, you just have incredibly low self-esteem. Work on that." 

Yuuri takes a step closer to the Clockmaster and swoops his upper body down in a deep bow.

"Thank you."

The Clockmaster smiles and says, "I look forward to the day you beat the Organization into submission. But take it easy kid, life's not about flashy abilities and high ranks. Make some allies first."

With those parting words, the Clockmaster takes out a small golden pocket watch and opens up the glass face. He slides the minute hand until it points to the VII mark, and then disappears in a brief flash of light. 

Yuuri stands alone in the dim room, next to two cups: one empty and one half-full with cold tea. It's about time he returns to Universe One. 

He's been chasing after the Clockmaster for long enough.


	2. Jour Du Soleil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has their own agenda and their own mysteries. Yuuri channels his inner Sherlock, and the weather consistently sucks.
> 
> (Please note that I choose to use italics when portraying a character's thoughts.)
> 
> Edit: someone has kindly informed me that the S.S. acronym was something unsavory and Nazi-related, so the new shortened form for the Scythes Squadron is SCYS.

There's always rain. 

It's a constant in Yuuri's life; always dripping into his flat, soaking his dog, and leaking into the third floor, second corridor of the Archive Department at the Organization's headquarters. 

It's quite odd; Yuuri is an autumn child, and any rain left over from the summer season was long gone by the time he had first opened his eyes. 

Presently, the rain is gentle: a warm shower that delicately wets rooftops and waters flowers. 

There's a myriad of flowers in the cozy café Yuuri sits in. They range from vibrant reds to placid blues and every other shade in between, like an army of petals and pollen. Yuuri isn't surprised; he's in a city known throughout several universes as the "city of cities". It'd be natural for such a city to boast of its exceptional flora and fauna. 

"You never change, huh? All this time too," Yuuri mumbles.

Even at a first glance, the city vibrates with history. Wars have been fought in this city, blood has been shed in this city: love, death, life, and hatred have all been found in this city. 

Yuuri found a piece of himself he hadn't even known he lost in this city.

"Paris, France. Universe Twenty-two; the 'Universe of Lights'," says a voice from behind. "And if I hadn't known better, I would've thought you were talking to me instead of yourself. What are you doing here Yuuri?"

Yuuri whips his body around and meets a pair of twinkling hazel eyes, framed by long eyelashes and blond hair. He knows this face, this man.

"What?" says the blond-haired man. "Are you just going to stare at me?"

Yuuri's eyes soften and a small smile spreads across this face. He has to stop himself from blushing and looking away, (a force of habit from his time in the Junior Division) but nonetheless, Yuuri is happy. Pleasantly surprised, even.

"Hello Christophe," he says. "It's been a while."

Christophe closes his eyes and tilts his head toward the window, where rain is still falling. 

"That it has."

 

__________

 

 

Christophe is the same as always, yet different. His eyes are deeper, as if secrets swam in their depths. He's taller and not as wiry as he was in their youth. The way he walks is different too: with long, effortless strides and an upright but relaxed spine. 

However, he's still Christophe. Still Chris.

As much as he has changed, Chris is still whimsical and exciting, with a darker passionate side Yuuri had always known lurked beneath the ice. His smirk is the same, and so is his talent for arbitrating.

"So tell me," Chris teases. "What's the youngest member of the SCYS doing in a simple little universe like Twenty-two?"

Yuuri groans. Definitely the same old Chris.

"Today is my day off, and I like being in Twenty-two. It's the most peaceful of the Five Hundred." 

Chris clicks his tongue, blond strands of hair flying to and fro as he shakes his head.

"Exactly!" he exclaims. "Five hundred different universes under the domain of Universe One and you choose to spend your time in such a," Chris pauses. "A Frenchy place!"

Yuuri has to refrain from slapping his hand onto his face but, oh God, he's tempted to. Christophe is no idiot, but sometimes, Yuuri doubts that he has a speech to mouth filter. It's bad enough what he says while in the midst of sports.

"Chris, Twenty-two is where time splits resulted in a complete French dominance. You know this, don't play with me. And I don't recall inviting you, so why were you in such "a Frenchy place" by yourself?"

"Ah ah ah," Chris sing-songs. "That's for me to know and for you to find out. Unless," Chris bats his eyes while a provocative grin slides across his lips. "does sweet bitty Yuuri want to hear?" 

"No thanks," Yuuri rejects. "I'd rather be left in peace." 

"Oh?" Chris says, eyebrows arching. "But then how would I be able to tell you that there have been recent sightings of the Clockmaster?"

"That's impossible," Yuuri refuses. "The Clockmaster is very good, too good, at covering his tracks. He won't be so easily found."

"HQ wants him back," interjects Chris. "And if HQ wants something, then it will happen, willingly or not. Rumors of a tall, silver-haired man are everywhere. Even lies have a kernel of truth in them."

"That's not right," says Yuuri. "The Clockmaster has white hair, not silver."

"It's a similar shade, so I suppose people said 'white' not 'silver'. Little details like that don't matter anyways."

Yuuri glances at Chris and immediately notices the other man's too-wide, too-cheerful smile. 

He's hiding something.

"Why are you bringing this up? The last time I saw the Clockmaster was years ago. Even if I wanted to go searching for him, I don't have any time."

"Just making small talk and catching up with an old friend," Chris responds. "Nothing to it."

"Please don't hide things from me. If there's an ulterior motive behind your words, I don’t appreciate it."

Chris blinks. Yuuri stares.

"You're wasting your talent Yuuri," Chris says quietly. "You told me all those years ago about what happened to you when you met the Clockmaster. There are things that don't add up, and I think it's finally time we take matters into our own hands. There's no point in lazing around in other universes when there's something lurking in Universe One."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Yuuri laughs and lifts his arm to cover his eyes. "There's nothing 'lurking' in Universe One. If there was, I'm sure the other SCYS members would have found a way to deal with it." 

"It's not an external threat Yuuri," Chris warns. "No matter how much you think you know about the Organization, it's not enough. Although we both might be part of the Scythes Squadron, I've been around for longer. I know things you don't."

"Chris, there's nothing I can do. I only have the bare minimum of basics required to activate a Lapse, and I have almost no experience compared to the rest of the SCYS. The member closest to me in age is you, but everyone else is decades older."

"You're slipping back into that low-self esteem tic you seem to have. Where's the Yuuri Katsuki that 'took the world by storm and beat Giacometti's record for becoming the youngest SCYS member'?" 

"You know that's not me," Yuuri says. "It's a headline, or the blurb of a book, or a magazine caption, but it isn't me." 

Chris's expression changes into something unreadable, and very unlike him. His wide eyes are smoldering; burning straight into Yuuri.

"Sure," he says, eyes never leaving Yuuri's. "It's not you all the time, but it's a part of you. I want to see that passion again. You showed it to me after returning to Universe One all those years ago. It's not gone, is it? Though," Chris breaks eye contact with Yuuri and glances around the café. "if you stay in this dreadfully wet place any longer, the rain might wash it all away." 

Chris gives Yuuri a meaningful look and adds, "You've never disappointed me, or anyone else. And I'd like to think you never will."

"I can't help it if it rains," says Yuuri. "Of all the things Arbitrators can do, controlling the weather is not one of them."

"Then I hope you find someone who can." 

Chris holds out his arm and uncovers a pristine wrist-watch, laid with small diamonds and gold accents. He pops open the glass face and flicks the minute hand to the “XI” mark. 

"That's too cryptic. Why can't you ever say things plainly?" Yuuri ponders. 

"Well it wouldn't be nearly as much fun," Chris replies and then vanishes, leaving behind a few specks of gold dust.

Yuuri sighs and looks to a building with several arching windows and dark curtains, hiding the interior of the room from view. The curtains look expensive and soft, with careful designs stitched to the side.

"I don’t have time to solve puzzles either.”

 

__________

 

 

It rains again. 

Yuuri doesn't know what to make of Chris's words from before. Arbitrators cannot control the weather, nor do they hold any dominion over nature. It's one of the few aspects of the universes that Arbitrators are truly useless against. 

Chris likes riddles and has a tendency to go for the melodramatic. Perhaps he's poking fun, but Yuuri doesn't think so. There's a burning in the sandy-haired man's eyes that Yuuri's seldom seen. 

He isn't sure if he likes it.

"The first time we meet again after two years and that's all he has to say," grumbles Yuuri. 

His train of thought is broken when a brutal gust nearly slams him into a nearby tree. The wind in Universe Sixteen's Berlin is particularly vicious today, and the rain only makes it worse. Yuuri's buffeted from all sides, and after a few minutes, even his thick coat can't handle the intensity of the storm. 

Universe Sixteen is nothing like the benevolent Twenty-two that Yuuri often frequents. It's stormier and distressingly high maintenance; the records at HQ note that Sixteen has the highest number of routine inspections. 

It's unusual that Yuuri’s in Sixteen for an official assignment. Although it’s inconvenient, fixing Sixteen's Time Strand is a simple (yet tedious) task. 

This universe is commonly known as rookie territory; teachers send arrogant students out here in order to beat obedience into them (via mind-numbing busywork) and Junior Arbitrators use it as a training ground.

As a member of the Scythes Squadron, Yuuri had outgrown Universe Sixteen a long time ago. He was an elite now, among the top six best Arbitrators in the Organization. Well, among the top six best field Arbitrators at least. There are other Arbitrators that do not actively take assignments; instead, they reside in Universe One.

These Arbitrators usually hold a desk position. Yuuri's mind wanders off, and he thinks of Phichit Chulanot, a “Desk” Arbitrator and Yuuri’s former roommate.

His old roommate hated Sixteen with such a passion that it gave even Chris shivers. 

The dreariness and terrible weather of Sixteen wholly clashed against Phichit's bubbliness, and the usually cheerful boy reserved a special part of Hell for it. 

_Phichit would be teetering between cursing or trying to mother me if he saw where I was,_ Yuuri thinks with a smile. _Another friend I haven't seen for some time._

His smile fades. 

"Maybe Chris is right," Yuuri admits. "Assignments like these are a waste of time. But why send me, out of all the available Arbitrators?"

Though the Organization was always understaffed, (due to the rarity of Arbitrator children) Yuuri knew they could spare a rookie or two to come and strengthen Sixteen's Time Strand. 

A few people saved here and there and a jump back in time should be all it took to stabilize it. 

Yuuri might be the newest and least experienced out of the six SCYS members, but he isn't weak. Nor is he dumb.

The Organization wants to keep him busy. But why?

 

__________

 

 

The fluffy blankets that greet Yuuri are a heaven sent. Cushy, and velvety, stuffed with something unnaturally soft.

Yuuri inhales contentedly and makes a note reminding himself to thank Phichit later. True friends give each other love and silky blankets, after all. 

Yuuri's inky locks are still wet from the shower, but he curls up in bed anyways, dampening his pillow and the little brown stuffed poodle by his head. The sun is fading outside; an amber glow peeks through the rain and slips into his window, illuminating the room. Yuuri shifts his body, head pressed up against the stuffed dog.

"I'll be home soon Vicchan. I promise," he murmurs.

How many years has it been since he had last seen his family? Yuuri's heart sinks, and his apartment in Twenty-two suddenly seems very empty, and very cold.

 

__________

 

 

Universe One's London, in all its history and complexity, had horrid weather. It wasn't like Universe Sixteen's Berlin, (Yuuri was immensely grateful for that) but the gray sky and the gray streets and the gray umbrellas were dreary and boring. Compared to Twenty-two's Paris, or even One's Hasetsu, London's weather was a jarring disappointment. 

Maybe that was why the Organization had chosen to place HQ here; the monotonous climate and busy nature of London's inhabitants made it the perfect place to conduct stealthy operations. Normal humans wouldn't bat an eye at another large structure. They'd assume it was another corporate headquarters anyways.

Because of Universe One's strict regulations on the use of Arbitrator technology, Yuuri is forced to arrive at a pre-designated landing point and then make his way to Canary Wharf, where HQ is located. 

From his position near King's Cross Station, Yuuri estimated it would take about a thirty-minute drive to reach the wharf. An average distance of 5.6 miles ( _nine kilometers,_ Yuuri thinks. _He's in the U.K. now, and they use the Metric system, not the Imperial_ ) but because of traffic congestion, the drive took much longer.

The polished cab Yuuri had called weaves and ducks through traffic like a black lizard, furiously switching lanes and swerving through intersections. The streets are slick from rain, but the driver pays that thought no heed. By the time he arrives, Yuuri is ghost-pale. 

His legs are still wobbly as he rushes toward a nondescript gray building. Fat droplets and bits of ice are beginning to fall from thick, drooping clouds, and Yuuri's in no mood to get drenched. 

Even after returning to Universe One, he still can't escape the rain. 

The soles of Yuuri's leather dress shoes track mud inside as he enters. The lobby, unlike its exterior, is the antithesis of plain. A glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling; the only furniture in the massive space is a spotless reception desk and a few cushy arm chairs. 

The receptionist, a redhead recognizes as Mila, turns and gives Yuuri a surprised look. 

"Katsuki?" she asks, arching an elegant eyebrow. "Haven't seen you around in years. What're you doing back?"

"Hello, Mila." Yuuri smiles. "I've decided to come back and take a break from assignments. I've had quite enough of Universe Sixteen for a while now."

Mila throws her head back and laughs. The sound echoes throughout the empty lobby, loud and clear. Yuuri smiles again. He and Mila aren't especially close and they haven't interacted much, (unless you count that absolutely mortifying pole-dancing incident at Yuuri's SCYS inauguration banquet) but this is the kind of energy he misses and craves for. 

The dark haired man can feel his fingers twitching in anticipation. All he has left to do now is sign in, and then he'll be able to return to Hasetsu after a spending a few nights in London.

"Since you're probably going to kill me if I keep you here any longer, I'll speed up the process and let you leave. It's not like you could go anywhere in Universe One without anyone noticing, so I'll just sign you in myself," states Mila. “A dent in the flooring is probably forming from that obnoxious foot tapping. You can hurry upstairs and make any important phone calls now."

"Thank you, Mila!" Yuuri yells breathily. He's already halfway up the stairs to the second floor. 

Mila sighs and says, "Even SCYS members are impatient in my lobby. Well, I guess all Arbitrators are the same deep down." She tosses a strand of crimson hair over her shoulder and stretches her arms. "More paperwork for me."

Yuuri can hear the slight irritation in Mila's words, but he's too excited to care.

 _I'll make a quick phone call to Phichit, then go to the London apartment when the rain slows,_ Yuuri decides. _My return should be a surprise, in order to prevent any fuss._

Phichit picks up the phone exactly two seconds after Yuuri dials his number. Yuuri knows his friend is in New York City, preserving and decoding ancient texts, so he's shocked by the Thai man's quick response. 

"Hello?"

"Hi Phichit," Yuuri says.

"Yuuri?" Phichit screeches over the receiver. "You're back in One?"

"Yeah." Yuuri chuckles. "I'm in HQ, in London. Just got here an hour or so ago."

Phichit makes an odd squeaking sound reminiscent of a yelping dog and says, "London? You should have landed in New York instead."

Yuuri hums his agreement but says, "The Organization has rules, you should know this. Protocol states that-"

"All Arbitrators traveling back to Universe One must go to London and formally submit a 'sign-in' request. I know," Phichit finishes. "But maybe this one time could've been an exception. You're a SCYS member after all! You don't have to play by the same rules as the rest of us."

"That's not true." Yuuri frowns. "Being a SCYS member makes me more inclined to follow the rules." _Or just the ones that make sense,_ Yuuri thinks.

"Right, I know," Phichit teases, and Yuuri can feel his smirk from across the Atlantic. 

Suddenly, through the phone, Yuuri can hear crashing noises, along with sporadic bursts of violent cursing. Another voice joins the first one, and the cursing increases, becoming viciously creative.

"Phichit? Are you alright?" Yuuri asks. 

"Not really, no," Phichit says. "Leo must've knocked over something and now Seung-gil's pissed." The man laughs cheerfully and adds, "I should probably make sure they're okay."

Yuuri blinks and shakes his head.

"You probably should then, knowing those two." 

"Will do!"

Phichit hastily hangs up the phone, and the line immediately goes dead. 

By now, the rain has let up some, and Yuuri feels confident enough to borrow a car from the Organization to drive to his apartment. The commute is as excruciating as it was the first time around, however, now the streets are emptier and the time he spends on the road is shorter. 

Yuuri isn't sure what time it is, but a quick glance at his pocket watch tells him it's 8:39 pm. The sun had set a few hours earlier, and Yuuri's internal clock is telling him that a bed sounds like heaven.

As he races through the streets, tires skidding along soaked roads, Yuuri's apartment comes into view.

He haphazardly parks his car and clumsily unlocks his door with a rusty key hidden under a plastic plant. Stumbling into the living room, he kicks off his shoes and flops onto the couch. The apartment is cleaner than when he had left it; stains on the carpet had miraculously been washed away, and there's no dust in sight. 

Yuuri doesn't pay much attention to his various homes, only stopping by once in a blue moon because of official business. He'd never imagined that the housekeeping staff still kept up their duties. 

_Maybe that's what those odd deductions from his account were,_ Yuuri ponders.

He doesn't think about it for much longer. The night is aging, and the sky continues to shake itself loose of rain. Familiar splashes lull Yuuri into a dreamless sleep. He feels like a child again, laying on the couch, awaiting the return of an older sibling, or parent. 

Though now, Yuuri isn’t entirely sure of who he’s waiting for.

 

__________

 

 

The morning Yuuri wakes up to is dazzling. Entranced, he stares at the window, taking in the brightness of the sunlight. 

_I'm still dreaming,_ he thinks. 

Yuuri has grown used to the never-ending downpours he sees daily. Until now, he's forgotten what the sky looked like without a speck of rain. Last night's drizzle was still evident, with splotches of dew on the leaves of trees and water still dripping off Yuuri's roof. However, the sheer brightness of the day leaves Yuuri breathless; even in the perpetually beautiful Twenty-two, it always rained in his presence. It's been raining for well over three-fourths of Yuuri's life, so now he doesn't hesitate to throw himself off the couch and out the door. 

Yuuri's pale from a lifetime of Vitamin D deficiency, a lifetime of barely missing the last rays of an elusive sun. Now that he can bask in the sunlight, Yuuri spreads his arms and throws his head back to stare at the sky. It's wide and blue, large and free- a vast ocean of air that sits above his power and does whatever the hell it wants to. 

He wants to feel this way forever.

The illusion is shattered when a high-pitched yip crashes into his eardrums.

"What?" 

Yuuri looks around and finds himself flat on his back. A bushy mound of curly brown fur is latched onto his chest.

"Vicchan?" Yuuri gasps, scrambling to sit upright. Then he narrows his eyes and observes the dog on his chest. It's not Vicchan. This dog is larger, with a feistier temperament. 

Yuuri sighs, but gives the dog a smile and a pat on the head. 

"Who are you?" Yuuri wonders absentmindedly. A corner of his mind is irritated as if he's forgotten something, but Yuuri brushes it off and begins to look for a collar. Strangely enough, there isn't one. Most London pet-owners put collars on their dogs, to prevent them from wandering away and getting lost. This dog's owner decided to opt out. 

Yuuri sits outside for a few moments longer, before deciding that familial obligations came before sunbathing. He hasn't called his family yet, and it's not like surprises were really his thing, despite yesterday's plans. The furry bundle next to him barks.

"I guess I can't leave you out here alone," Yuuri says, patting the dog's soft fur. He opens the door, ushers the poodle inside, and picks up his phone in order to dial a familiar number.

"Hello?" a female voice responds, after a few rings.

A brief moment of silence.

"Hello?" the voice repeats.

"Hello mom," Yuuri replies, a smile shaking across his lips.

"Yuuri?" the voice whispers. "Yuuri!"

Thundering footsteps can be heard on the other end of the call, and Yuuri wonders who it is. Static bursts through the phone as someone snatches his mother's mobile device, on the other end of the line. 

"Yuuri? You brat, you're still here right? You're really back now?" another female voice demands.

"Mari!" Yuuri says. "Of course-"

More static is heard, and Yuuri presumes another family member has snatched away his mom's phone. 

"Yuuri!" his father yells. "We miss you, come home soon!"

A round of phone-passing is done and more sentiments are said before Yuuri's mother can speak again. "Yuuri, you haven't been home for so long, and we miss you! Try asking the Organization for some vacation time and come visit us. Really, we miss you."

"Thanks, mom." Yuuri quickly wipes a tear. "Oh, and...?"

"Yes, dear?"

"How's Vicchan doing? He's doing alright isn't he?"

His mother pauses for a minute, and a tingling sense of foreboding strangles Yuuri.

"Mom?"

"I'm really sorry dear, but he was old and when he ran into the road one day-" Yuuri's mom trails off. "I'm sorry you had to hear this, right when you came back. I-"

Cold realization creeps up Yuuri's spine.

"Thank you, mom. Tell everyone I'll be okay for a while. Don't worry too much, you're retired and you should enjoy it," he interrupts, his voice shaky. 

Yuuri sounds dazed, as if he'd just been smacked in the head. As he stabs his finger on the 'end call' button, the phone slips out of his hands, bouncing onto the floor. 

All the strength and prestige that came with the title of 'SCYS member'; it seemed to disappear in a millisecond. 

Yuuri sobs brokenly into the mysterious dog's fur, chest heaving. His glasses had been thrown across the room and now lay next to a stray pillow. 

The dog whines, pawing at the wooden flooring. 

"Hey, don't leave me too," Yuuri whispers. His voice is hoarse, coming out in breathy gasps. The black-haired man hugs the dog tighter. "Vicchan, I'm sorry that I can't go back in time. I'm sorry, Mom, Dad, Mari. I'm sorry I can't go back in time." 

The dog whines again, but this time, it shifts its body closer to Yuuri and licks the man's face. 

The sky outside is rare: bright and sunny, but rain plagues Yuuri everywhere he goes. This occasion is no exception.

 

__________

 

 

Days pass by in a bland mash of tears: both from the sky, and from Yuuri. There's no reoccurrence of that one sunny morning, but Yuuri can't find anything in himself to care. There's not much to care about nowadays, anyway. Despite his insistence on leaving London as soon as possible, Yuuri remains in his apartment, scarcely venturing out into the streets. 

The poodle he had found on his doorstep doesn't leave either, though sometimes it whimpers at the door like it's waiting for someone to return. Yuuri swears to himself that he'll go ask around for its owner, but he can't let go. It's wrong to keep the dog holed up in his apartment, but fluffy ears and a wagging tail remind him of Vicchan, and how Yuuri was too little, too late. He's always been too little, too late, but now he knows that his mistake can never be redeemed. 

Vicchan isn't coming back. 

Yuuri doesn't know whether or not Arbitrators have souls, but he feels like a dog-shaped piece of himself is gone. Perhaps other Arbitrators (especially the other SCYS members) would laugh and tell him to get over it. Vicchan was just a dog after all, and dogs are replaceable. 

You're an Arbitrator, the dog can't possibly be around forever, they'd say. 

And, Yuuri thinks, they're right. 

They're right, but no one had ever said that love was rational. Vicchan had been around for longer than any regular domestic dog. He'd been synonymous with the word home. Vicchan was a piece of Yuuri's soul; something he'd loved (something he'd always love).

Dogs were man's best friend, and they were Arbitrators' best friend too. 

Yuuri turns his head and stares at the brown bundle on his lap. The mystery dog looks up at him and barks cheerfully, its paws batting at the air. 

Yuuri chuckles faintly. The poodle is large, larger than Vicchan, but it still behaves like a small puppy- excitable and lively. 

No matter how much he misses Vicchan, Yuuri knows what he has to do. He can't keep this dog forever; it's unfair to the dog's owner. 

Besides, Yuuri thinks, there have been whispers of the silver-haired man again; only this time, the rumors say he's in London. 

Yuuri won't admit it, but there's a lingering curiosity eating at the edge of his mind. Chris's words have come back to dig themselves into his brain. Now that the silver-haired stranger is in London, Yuuri can go and find him. Yuuri has to find him.

Yuuri's head aches, and his eyes are itchy and dry, yet a flash of strength takes control of his limbs and steels his mind. It's been days upon days of grief.

Too much grief for a person of his caliber, Yuuri's common sense snaps.

For an SCYS member, this mopiness is unbecoming, and Yuuri hates how weak he feels. Vicchan isn't coming back, but there's still some things he has left. Some things he still needs closure for.

Even when he's caught in a daze of self-isolation, there's relatively little that escapes Yuuri's ears (partly because of Phichit, who insists on leaving messages and voicemails, and partly because these are rumors of interest). The grapevine amongst the higher-ups is full of juicy tidbits about the silver-haired man, with plenty of theory and speculation about his true identity. Silver is an unusual hair color for Arbitrators, and entirely unheard of for humans- making the puzzle all the more enticing.

According to Phichit's forty-fifth text message on a Tuesday afternoon, the Archive Department's Russian Branch bet 177,000 rubles against the American Branch, who bet 4,000 dollars against the Chinese Branch on whether or not the man is a secret Arbitrator. The branches are extraordinarily competitive, so the betting pools are notorious for being outrageous. 

The enigma of the silver-haired man is a point of pride. The first one to solve the conundrum is the winner, better than the rest.

 _Though,_ Yuuri muses, _the competition is oddly useful._

The theories are uniquely intriguing, with all sorts of possibilities and perspectives. (Though some are better than others.)

So far, the most plausible speculations all include the Clockmaster in some way. 

As the last Arbitrator in recent memory to have spoken to the Clockmaster, Yuuri was often questioned about his meeting with the old man. He'd told the Organization all the details about his experience. All except one. 

The Clockmaster's son. 

Yuuri's never forgotten about those fleeting words: about the Clockmaster's haunted look and his terrible loss; the loss that drove away one of the most brilliant minds the Organization had ever obtained. He's not too inclined to mention it to anyone else either; Yuuri has too much respect for the Clockmaster. 

But the old man's mysterious son...

Well, Yuuri can't say he's never been curious about that. 

Phichit's team in New York have been scouring old records, combing through reports that date back decades. So far, there's nothing; nothing that seems too significant. But Yuuri has his own theories. 

From Phichit's numerous text messages, Yuuri has deduced that: one; the only Arbitrators listed to have white-silver hair belong to the Clockmaster's family, and two; the only living member of the Clockmaster's family is the old man himself. Or at least that's what the official registry claims. The Clockmaster's son isn't in any records, and his existence is untraceable. If Yuuri didn't know better, he would've dismissed the rumors as nonsensical conspiracies. 

But Yuuri does know better; he knows that someone extraordinarily meticulous must've searched every document possibly containing the Clockmaster's son. And then deleted that information. 

The Organization's archives are kept on two mediums: electronic and paper. All reports and paperwork had been transcribed into an electronic database years before, and the database is continually updated. Files that are considered "historical artifacts" are kept in a stronghold that only high-ranking officials can access. 

There's no way information about someone as relevant as the Clockmaster's son can be accidentally lost. There's no way. 

Someone, either working independently or on the Organization's payroll, had eliminated every single trace of the Clockmaster's son. 

_Whoever did it was thorough,_ Yuuri thinks. 

Thorough to the point where not even Phichit's first-rate team of historians and data analysts could find the information. Hell, Phichit's team had Otabek Altin, the man who developed and created the online database. Yet even with him, they still couldn't find the information. 

There's a connection with this mysterious silver-haired man and the Clockmaster. Whether or not the mystery man is the Clockmaster's son is still a topic of debate, but Yuuri can't deny that the two are related. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together, slowly but surely. Yuuri just needs a piece or two. 

However, there are still a few details that don’t make sense. Why are sightings of the silver-haired man appearing just now? Yuuri had first heard about them from Chris, approximately three months ago. But it had been years, if not decades since the Clockmaster was an everyday topic of conversation. The Clockmaster's son would have been remembered by older Arbitrators, especially if the old man's son was born before he retired. The Clockmaster's days in the field had a near-legendary status, and people were constantly watching the man’s every move.

Then there's still Chris's vague warnings and that odd assignment Yuuri had been sent to complete in Universe Sixteen. It's all very out of place. 

This is one of the times Yuuri feels a strong resentment for his ranking in the SCYS. As Rank Six, Yuuri's barely able to access an eighth of the information higher ranks can. Some of that is his own fault, though. Yuuri's been carefully avoiding inter-organizational politics ever since the fateful meeting with the Clockmaster. As a direct result of that, Yuuri has the least influence out of all the higher-ups and SCYS members. (He's been much more attentive towards making allies.) 

For now, Yuuri will wait. He still has resources and time on his side. He'll solve this mystery and regain control of his life. First order of business: find Chris and Phichit, and ask them what they know. 

A loud bark breaks his thoughts. The poodle jumps off his lap and makes its way into the kitchen, searching for a quick snack.

Oh. Yuuri blinks. Second order of business: return that dog.

 

__________

 

 

A shrill ring permeates the air, rousing Yuuri from his restless dream.

"What?" Yuuri mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Why would anyone call at," Yuuri turns and squints at his clock. "3:40 A.M.?" 

Yuuri picks up, but as he's about to say hello, Phichit's voice cuts him off.

"I knew it!" Phichit yells. "I knew you would pick up if I called you at this time. Ha! Seung-gil said you wouldn't but obviously, I know you better than he does." 

"Phichit," Yuuri says. "Did you call me just to prove a point?"

"I called you to make sure you were alive," Phichit corrects. "And to tell you to stop leaving me on read. We're best friends Yuuri, and I want to be there to support you. Oh, and I'm going to pass the phone to Otabek, he has something to say to you."

Yuuri rubs his face and yawns. It's too early for this, but Otabek never does anything without a reason. Whatever he has to say is probably important; especially if he's willing to disturb Yuuri's sleep. 

"Hello?"

"I'm still here," Yuuri responds.

"Good," says Otabek. "Phichit was telling me that one of the few messages you sent back to him included the fact that you had found a stray dog in front of your apartment."

"That's right," Yuuri confirms. "I don't really understand why this is an issue, though."

"That dog's not supposed to be there," says Otabek. 

"I would suppose so." Yuuri laughs and collapses back onto his bed. "I mean, it's a stray dog."

"No." Otakbek pauses, trying to convey his thoughts in words. "It's-"

The Kazakh man stops again. 

"The dog cannot be there."

"Otabek, I heard you the first time," Yuuri replies. "I know."

"No, you don't understand," Otabek says. "The dog cannot be there. Every residence an Arbitrator owns is installed with a Cube-Prototype I developed. It wards off everyone and everything you have not explicitly permitted into your home. I don't make mistakes. That dog is dangerous."

"What?" Yuuri says. "That's insane. It's just a stray dog. I know you're a genius, but geniuses make mistakes."

"I do not think so," Otabek refutes. "The Cube-Prototype would send me a distress call if it was to malfunction in any way. It's impossible that yours would break. You are an SCYS member. Your Cube is one of the best."

"Then-" Yuuri trails off, glancing at the brown lump at his bedside. "Then what is this? Why is it here?"

"Good questions. None of which I can answer." 

Both men pause, enveloped in a thoughtful silence. 

"I would suggest you be careful," Otabek warns. "Anything that can bypass Arbitrator technology is dangerous. Even if it is just a dog."

Otabek halts then adds, "About the silver-haired man- It would be in our best interest to worry about him too."

"You're interested in him also?" Yuuri asks. He's surprised; Otabek- cool, composed Otabek does not seem like someone who is concerned with workplace gossip.

"Of course," Otabek replies, his voice laced with mild disdain. "I do not appreciate those who meddle with my databases."

So Otabek had arrived at the same conclusion. It's not much of a surprise, seeing that he knows the databases like the back of his hand.

"And," a voice interjects, breaking Yuuri's musings. "He's part of my team, so what I say goes. We're getting all the dirt on this guy, even if we have to upturn the entire database to do it!"

"Ah," Otabek replies. "I agree with Phichit. Although the 'upturning the database' part was not planned."

"Rough patches we'll smooth out later," Phichit dismisses. "Seung-gil has it all planned."

"I want no part in this," a faint voice calls out. The firm rejection that often accompanies Seung-gil's voice is unmistakable, even through an unstable line at 3:40 in the morning. 

Yuuri takes a quick look at his bedside clock. Make that 3:53 in the morning. 

"He's shy," Phichit says. 

"He also happens to have more influence in the Organization than Chris, you, and me combined," Yuuri says dryly. 

"Again with the details," Phichit says flippantly. 

A brief cough comes from Phichit's side of the line.

"Right, right, I got it," Phichit replies. "Otabek wants to talk again."

Yuuri sighs.

"As I said before," Otabek states. "That dog is not supposed to be there. The silver-haired man appears. Then the dog appears."

Otabek is quiet for a second or so, then suddenly says, "A coincidence, yes?"

"A dog has nothing in common with the Clockmaster," Yuuri answers. 

"I did not say anything about the Clockmaster," Otabek points out. "I asked if it was a coincidence. It does not sound like it. First a mysterious man, now a mysterious dog. They are in places where they should not be. It is suspicious."

Otabek is right. The Kazakh man is perceptive, and Yuuri gives him credit for that. It's simple to see why Otabek was charged with the creation of the Organization's database. 

_That and his financial ties,_ Yuuri thinks.

"You are an important member of the SCYS. It would not be wise to let down your guard," Otabek cautions. "Do not change your routine. Do not let anyone else know. Let the enemy reveal themselves."

"Enemy?"

"Enemy," Otabek confirms. "For now, they are the enemy. We must assume that they are here to do harm. We will both be careful."

"What Otabek means," Phichit chimes. "Is that we don't know what's out there. Just be careful."

"You think that the silver-haired man is dangerous?"

"Perhaps," Otabek says. 

Yuuri is stunned. He'd been working on the assumption that the silver-haired man was an ally or at least a harmless puzzle to solve. 

"I see," Yuuri concedes. "I'll keep that in mind."

Otabek makes an approving noise. 

"I'm sorry for disturbing your rest. Enjoy the rest of your night."

"No, it's alright-"

The phone beeps, signaling the end of the call. Otabek had hung up. 

Yuuri groans. It's 4:12 A.M. and he can hear the beginnings of a large torrent outside. His head aches from the weight of information and the lack of sleep, yet he can't drift off. Rain doesn't provide him with the comfort it usually does, and the rumbling of thunder sounds ominous in the darkness of Yuuri's room. The dog by his bedside sleeps on.

Nothing remarkable happens in the two weeks after Yuuri had spoken with Otabek. By now his requested leave of absence is up, and Yuuri resumes his duties with the same firm diligence. Instead of returning to the field, Yuuri has applied for a temporary job with administrative roots. Mountains of paperwork enough to crush bears rain down on Yuuri every day, competing with the raging storms outside. 

The weather had turned exceptionally foul lately. Any hopes for a sunny day were gone and even though it was well into March, whipping winds and snow were a common occurrence. Temperatures fluctuate from below freezing to brisk to warm, and the songbirds that roost along the streets have yet to return. London is a frozen wonderland, minus the wonder. 

This is the most normal he's has felt in ages. Late-night coffee runs and a numbingly boring job are things that make Yuuri feel sane (the executive employee benefits are nothing to scoff at either). 

Yuuri sees Mila more often too. Her wild red curls are often seen bobbing and weaving through offices, and of course, at the receptionist desk in the lobby. She's always chattering up a storm whenever she walks past, giving out pieces of the hottest gossip; "yes, so-and-so really did break up" or "oh no, that's completely false, darling." 

Mila has a lot to say about everything, but Yuuri's not complaining. She keeps the atmosphere of the workplace alive. 

There's not much to do anymore, with all the snow and wind. When Yuuri's not at work, he's at home or he's at a private training field in London HQ's Practical Wing. The most excitement in Yuuri's day comes from phone calls and the stray dog's antics. The dog, unlike everyone else, seems to like snow. It- no, he, Yuuri corrects; the dog is a he- has escaped the apartment a few times in order to roll around in on the frosty ground. 

The dog had tracked mud and water all over Yuuri's carpet and furniture; the cleanup bill was astronomical. 

Yuuri shudders from the memory. 

According to this morning's weather report, a hail was expected to begin falling at around 7-8 P.M. this evening. The time displayed on Yuuri's oven was 4:39 P.M. 

Yuuri looks out of the window. The sky is a normal slate-gray and doesn't give any signs of an impending hailstorm. The air is still, with only brief breezes, barely enough to shake a few leaves. 

A dreadful, uneasy feeling bubbles up Yuuri's throat. The air feels off, somehow and the colors outside seem warped and strange. The shadows are too dark, the quiet rain too irregular. 

The dog is pawing at Yuuri's couch cushions, but his ears are perked up, and his head is stiff. 

The doorbell rings.

None of his colleagues have said anything about stopping by, nor does he have any appointments. Otabek had made it quite clear that only Yuuri could control who came in and out. 

_It can't be ordinary humans,_ Yuuri deduces. _It can't be any co-workers either; they're adamant on propriety and if one of them had wanted to visit, they would've called ahead._

Yuuri slowly makes his way to the front door. It unlocks with a click and he swings it wide open. 

The first thing Yuuri sees is a pleasant smile. The man outside is taller than him, with broad shoulders and a lean, graceful form that shows underneath his woolen coat. 

Yuuri looks up, and the breath is knocked out of his lungs. 

The man is unearthly and very, very beautiful. His smile is wide, and his eyes are a sparkling cornflower blue, framed by long lashes. Long silver lashes. 

The beautiful stranger has fine, silvery hair that sweeps across his face in a gentle swoop. 

It hits Yuuri like a bolt of lightning, racing through his veins and sizzling against his bones.

This man has silver hair. This man has silver eyelashes.

This man is the one that has haunted Yuuri's thoughts for months, the subject of bets worth hundreds of fortunes. Yuuri can see why witnesses with no interest in the Clockmaster's legacy are obsessed. 

A sharp, handsome face should have clashed with the man's elegant posture. It only enhances.

"You look like a fairy," Yuuri blurts out. Then immediately regrets. He can feel his face heat up from the embarrassment. Who in their right mind tells a stranger they look like a fairy?

The man's laughter sounds like a bell tower; strong yet tinkling. Belatedly, Yuuri realizes that he should have invited the man in. 

"Thank you," says the man. "Not many people tell me that."

Yuuri lowers his head and gestures into his apartment.

"I'm terribly sorry. Please come in."

"It's nothing at all." The man waves his hand in the air as if he's batting away small flies. "I'm the sorry one, for barging in like this."

This man is cheery and flippant, nothing at all the Clockmaster, Yuuri thinks. If it wasn't for the physical resemblance, I'd never be able to tell. 

Yuuri hasn't seen the old man in years, but he still remembers the Clockmaster's face well. It was hard to forget someone who played large part in shaping you, after all. Traces of the Clockmaster's aristocratic nose and sharp jaw are visible on the man, along with the famous silver hair (although the Clockmaster's was more on the white side of the spectrum). It was also clear that whoever the man's mother was, she was very pretty as well. 

The Clockmaster didn't have blue eyes, and his build was stockier compared to the stranger's; such features probably came from the man’s mother.

"Would you like some tea?" Yuuri asks.

"No, no, I'm good," the stranger replies. "But I do have a request to make."

"I don't know if I can honor any requests," Yuuri admits. "I'll try my best to help, but it's not much."

The unspoken words are there. Who are you, and why are you requesting something from me? 

"It's nothing like that," the man says. "Someone told me that they had spotted a brown poodle in the area, so I've been asking the residents about it. You wouldn't have happened to stumble upon a lost dog, no?"

Otabek was right. There was a correlation between the silver-haired man and the strange dog, though not in the way Yuuri suspected. 

"Yes," Yuuri confirms. "But first," Yuuri pauses. "But first, I'd like to ask how you found this place."

"Let's skip the pleasantries," the man says, and his blue eyes are icier now. "I'd like very much to know where he is."

"He who?"

Yuuri is stalling for time, and the man can tell too (if his narrowed eyes are any indication). The sweet smile doesn't fade. 

"Please. I would like to be rid of small talk and pleasantries."

"Then," Yuuri replies. "What's your name?"

"Victor Nikiforov," the man introduces. "And yours?"

Nikiforov. What was the Clockmaster's legal name? Was this it? Or something else? Yuuri's mind is in jumbles.

"I'm Yuuri Katsuki," he answers. 

"Pleased to meet you." 

The air in Yuuri's apartment is electrifying, cold tension bouncing off the walls and accumulating in the room. The kitchen is stifling.

"Now," Victor begins. "I'd like to know where-"

He doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, a mass of dense brown launches itself at Victor, drowning the man in fur. 

"Makkachin!" Victor yells. 

The dog barks loudly. Victor whips his head around and stares at Yuuri.

"Why did you keep Makkachin?" Victor asks, his tone calm and even. His eyes, however, are a different story; they flicker like raging seas, ready to lure people into the deep.

"How did you find my apartment in the first place?" Yuuri counters.

Victor's smile is replaced by a wry quirk of the lips. The message is clear: no secrets will be told today.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you," Victors says. "Thank you for having me. I'll take Makkachin with me if you don't mind."

Yuuri does mind; he wants answers. Answers that only this man and his strange dog can give.

"How did you find this place?" Yuuri asks again. "I kept the dog because he wandered onto my doorstep if that's what you're asking. So please answer a question of mine. How did you get here?"

 _And who are you really?_ Yuuri wonders.

"I'm afraid that's a question I cannot answer." After those parting words, Victor flees from the room, exiting through the door faster than humanly possible. 

_No!_ Yuuri's mind screams. _I have to catch him! He's so close!_

The Arbitrator rushes into his room and sticks his hand under the bed, tossing various objects until he finds what he needs. The item is foreign and cool against his hands, with a slender body and an odd, curved cap. 

Yuuri trembles. If he uses this pen, knowing the risks...

He shakes his head. It might be the adrenaline, but Yuuri is determined to do this, risks be damned. Grasping the cap, Yuuri yanks the pen loose. It expands and changes shape until a rod with a curved blade rests against his palms. 

"Screw it," Yuuri spits out. "This counts as an emergency right? I'll have Seung-gil back me up later if someone decides to take me to court."

He twists the scythe in his hands and homes into onto Victor's electrical field. Sweat dots his forehead as Yuuri forces space and time to contort around him. 

His first thought is: wow, I'm out of practice. His second is that the Organization is going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it took 25 pages on Google Docs and three weeks, but I finally did it! Please tell me what you guys think; suggestions, constructive criticism, and your feelings while reading the chapter. I'll be happy to answer any questions! Also, I'm looking for a beta reader! I don't really know how beta-reading works (I'm new to this site and this is my first fanfiction) so if someone could fill me in, that'd be great. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Edit: I revived my Tumblr! Follow me at xuan-timewrites for updates + thoughts :)


	3. Sardonique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's list of ever-present nouns includes (but is not limited to): a friend with possibly shady political connections, that one person that shows up everywhere when you least expect it, questions that don't get answered well, the ER, and an imminent prosecution. Being an Arbitrator means dancing on rainbows (until you fall off, into a burning pit of coal below). 
> 
> A special thank you to my beta reader, the wonderful and talented renaissance (who also writes superb YOI fanfics on AO3)!
> 
> The playlist I listened to while writing:  
> Shigeru Umebayashi - Yumeji's Theme  
> Lovewave - 그 밤 (The Night)  
> Tomoya Naka - Rainy Song  
> Claude Debussy - Clair de Lune

A part of him is screaming hell yeah! Another part is screaming crap! Yuuri listens to neither. 

The exhilaration rushing through his body is distracting, making his breath shorten and his toes burn, but Yuuri can't afford to lose control. Attempting to the Lapse is difficult enough, but attempting to use it in Universe One? Nearly unheard of. 

As space compresses around him, Yuuri can see the Time Strand of Universe One. Unlike Sixteen's strand, which looks like a stringy mess of duct tape, One's strand is strong. 

_What did Otabek say again?_ Yuuri thinks. _One's strand resembled… fiber optic cables?_

"Crap!" Yuuri yells, the scythe nearly slipping from his fingers. Concentrating is difficult, to say the least. "Come on, come on!"

The pressure around him skyrockets as the Lapse begins to activate. Yuuri's surroundings distort back and forth, swaying like palm trees in the wind. And then it stops.

Universe One's strand is strong—too strong. Yuuri's Lapse isn't powerful enough to manipulate it.

"No! One more time, damn it!" 

The energy in the air is buzzing, weaving itself in and out of One's Time Strand. Yuuri pushes on, forcing space to bend to his will because _dammit,_ he _has_ to do this. 

His hands are clammy, his grip on the scythe shaky, but a small twist in space is beginning to form. Yuuri wipes away the sweat on his forehead and pushes against the strand again; this time, a rip appears. It's small, barely enough to squeeze through. Nevertheless, Yuuri rushes toward it while twirling his scythe, simultaneously entering and closing the gate. 

The quickest route from Point A to Point B is a straight line, so Yuuri decides to skip the scenic path. With a smooth flick of the scythe, he launches himself through the space-time gap; on the other side, the exit is struggling to hold its form. Before it collapses, Yuuri shoves himself past. 

He lands hard on the ground, gritty cement digging into his knees. The lot around him is treeless and barren, fenced on all sides by blocky gray buildings. The sky is clear and bright, but the air is thin; a lazy breeze drifts through the landscape, picking up dust as it blows by. Instinctively, Yuuri notices that this is the same wind that appeared before Victor did. 

Victor is close- very close. 

Yuuri takes a moment to catch his breath. Normally, an abrupt teleportation isn't much trouble (and it shouldn't be, according to the SCYS Skill Set Manual) but the unyielding nature of One's strand made Yuuri exert more effort than usual. At this rate, Yuuri doesn't think that he'll be able to cope for much longer. His scythe doesn't look too hot either. Considering that it's supposed to be a use-then-dispose emergency device, Yuuri's already pushed it to its limits. 

_There's probably only a few more swings left in this thing,_ Yuuri thinks. _If only I had my pocket watch-!_

Instead of opening a mini-Lapse, Yuuri bends time slightly, increasing the speed at which he's racing towards Victor. The scythe heats up in his arms, vibrating with a fervent intensity. His hair thrashes in the wind as Yuuri continues at a breakneck speed, zipping through the gaps and cracks of narrow buildings, much like how he travels through space-time. 

Victor's in a small alley- his electrical signature pulsing with anticipation. 

_Anticipation?_

_He's waiting for me,_ Yuuri infers. _He knows I'm after him. Fine then. I'll make sure it's worth his while!_

Yuuri’s scythe is stable now, stable enough to withstand a mini-Lapse at least. 

Because of how close Victor is, the teleportation is nearly effortless this time. With a burst of energy, Yuuri tears a gate open and adjusts his landing- right in front of Victor.

"Surprised?" 

"I see." Victor blinks. "An Arbitrator." 

Victor's casually perched on a low stone wall, legs crossed, not a hair out of place. 

_Who is this man?_

"You know what Arbitrators are," Yuuri states flatly. "You're definitely not human, but from your tone of voice, you're not an Arbitrator either."

"No," Victor replies. "Unless I've been lied to my entire life, I don't believe I am. I don't have that handy space-time magic you Arbitrators like to wave around either."

"It's not magic," Yuuri corrects. "It's technology."

"Of course," says Victor. "I suppose I'd know a few things about magic myself."

"Oh?" Yuuri narrows his eyes. "Magic?"

"Surely you should know what I am."

"What you are?"

"No?" Victor looks at Yuuri with mocked surprise. "They never told you? Not one soul? Though—" Victor pauses. "I don't think Arbitrators do have souls."

"I'm very tired of hearing people speak in riddles," Yuuri says. "I have questions, and I want them answered. Who are you, what are you, and how did you find me?"

"I mean no harm," Victor reassures him. "I wanted Makkachin back, and I happened to get lucky."

"That's suspicious," Yuuri begins. "You specifically said, 'Why did you keep Makkachin,' not 'where did you find him,' insinuating that you already knew his location beforehand. Furthermore, I know for a fact that no one can ever _randomly_ find my apartment. I didn't chase you here for nothing. I want answers." After a second Yuuri adds, "Please."

"Now that you've said that, I have a few questions of my own," Victor says. "You traveled here rather quickly. Arbitrators are fast but—" He stops and taps his finger against his lips. "They're not as efficient as you. Did you use that?"

Yuuri raises his eyebrows, staring defiantly at Victor. 

"Use what?"

"The Lapse, what else?"

Panic washes over Yuuri. "That's an esteemed Arbitrator secret. How do you know this? Any of this? Are you related to the Clockmaster? Is this how you know?"

"What?" Victor says, tilting his head. 

_He looks genuinely confused,_ Yuuri observes. _So he doesn't know who the Clockmaster is?_

"What are you?" Yuuri demands. 

"I'm the opposite of you." 

Victor takes a quick look at Yuuri, particularly at his scythe. 

"You activated a Lapse," Victor notes. "But you have a remarkably flimsy scythe. And," Victor continues, "you're willing to do all this- in Universe One."

"You're fast," Yuuri retaliates. "You can bypass my security measures, and you know too much about Arbitrators. You must know about the Organization. So," Yuuri raises his arm and points the scythe straight at Victor, "why haven't they found you yet? Why haven't they informed me of your existence? Tell me the truth. Are you a rogue Arbitrator? There's no way you're human." 

"Smart," Victor says, clapping his hands. "Your reward is an answer. I am neither human nor an Arbitrator. As I've stated before, I'm the opposite of you, Yuuri Katsuki." Victor's blue eyes shine with a strange light. "I will never belong to the SCYS."

Yuuri tightens his grip on the scythe and points it closer to Victor. Victor is unfazed.

"You still want more answers?" Victor asks. "I'm happy to provide."

"Then why did you run away earlier?" Yuuri shoots back.

"I panicked," Victor admitted. "I believed you were something else. It didn't occur to me that you would be an Arbitrator. And as for the Organization … well, all I can say is that there are things even they cannot control. I'm sure someone's brought this up before."

"You mean to tell me that you can evade the entire Organization?"

"You flatter me." Victor chuckles and reaches out, slowly lowering the scythe's blade away from his face. "How can one man evade the entire Organization? I'm not infallible, and I certainly can't avoid your Organization all by my lonesome."

"There are more like you then, is that what you're saying? Not human, but not Arbitrator?"

"We sound like mutts when you put it like that," Victor says. "But yes, we're the in-between, according to your people."

"I've never heard of anybody like you," Yuuri says. "How do I know that I can trust what you're saying?"

"Why did you follow me then? Why did you break the law, willingly? Surely it's not to pursue something you don't believe in." Victor smiles and steps toward Yuuri. "Does that satisfy your curiosity? Thank you for taking care of my dog, but I think it's best if I leave."

"I don't think so!" Yuuri grabs Victor by the lapels of his coat. "We're not done here. I have an obligation to bring you to HQ anyways, so you're not going anywhere."

"Now, now, I answered all your questions peacefully. I'd appreciate it if you would stop threatening me." 

In a flash, Victor maneuvers his way out of Yuuri's grip, his face inches away from Yuuri’s. Victor gently sets his hand on Yuuri's, and with a flick of his wrist, the emergency scythe is shoved away. 

"My scythe-!" 

Yuuri gestures toward the silver object, now lying uselessly on the ground; it's several feet away, and out of his reach.

"That's better, isn't it?" Victor says. "The pleasantries are over."

Yuuri quivers as Victor carefully untangles their bodies. 

_For a second, his eyes looked like glass,_ Yuuri thinks. _They were sharp. Cold._

"This was fun," Victor says. "But let's not meet again."

Victor's inhuman speed resurfaces, and he shoots past Yuuri like a comet, leaving a blurry streak in his wake. His fingers are alight with what look like silver tongues of flame; dancing in his palm and curling up his arm, they resemble a blazing dragon. 

As Yuuri is about to give chase, a fog unexpectedly appears. Thick and oppressive, the fog drapes itself over Victor's body, hiding him from sight. The silver fire vanishes with him.

"People need to stop running away from me," Yuuri grumbles. "Now I have to track him down again."

Yuuri stiffens and concentrates, casting his senses out to search for Victor's electrical signature. He finds none. 

"That's impossible," Yuuri gasps, eyes wide open. "Even at his speed, he can't cover enough distance to throw me off."

 _Or,_ Yuuri thinks, _only his signature is gone. Can he also suppress his electrical presence?_

Yuuri thinks back to how he had found Victor. Victor had been lying idly by, calm and composed. Yuuri wouldn’t have found Victor unless the man had let him. 

Yuuri shakes his head. Now that Victor is gone, with no possible way to quickly pursue him, Yuuri has two options. He can either return to HQ, or he can consult with some of his close friends, with people he trusts.

Yuuri doesn't even need to think about it. The answer is obvious. Too much has happened in such a short amount of time, and for all the answers Yuuri has gained, a dozen more questions pop up in their place. 

Scrambling toward the battered scythe, he picks it up and channels the last of his energy into the steely rod. Yuuri sighs. It was his only emergency scythe, and he probably isn't going to be issued another one anytime soon. Or ever again. 

_Here goes nothing. Please land me in New York City and not in the Atlantic._

Yuuri closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The air shifts, whirling and spinning. The sensation of falling pervades his senses.

 _Am I tumbling into the ocean?_ Yuuri wonders. 

His feet hit cold tile, knees scraping against rough stone. 

Or not. 

Fuzzy dots swim across his vision, and his brain is pounding against his skull. Blobs of color flit around him, gasping and expressing their concern, but Yuuri can't make out any faces. Nor can he hear any familiar voices.

"Yuuri? Yuuri?"

The sky goes black, and Yuuri drowns.

 

__________

 

 

"How do you think he got here?"

"He was clutching a scythe," a deep voice recalls. "It was silver and broken at the handle."

"A standard emergency issue scythe then," the other voice speculates. 

Yuuri's mind vaguely notes the voice as lighter than its companion.

"Interesting," the deep voice says. "He attempted a trans-Atlantic Lapse. And he didn't die."

"That's Yuuri all right!" The other voice laughs. "Stubborn and impulsive, with the stamina to prove it!" The voice dissolves into another fit of giggles.

"You're taking this far too lightly, the both of you." 

Yuuri stirs, attempting to open his eyes. The first thing he sees is white. The sheets wrapped around him are a pearly color, and his adjusting vision tells him that the room is bright. He can hear faint beeping in regular intervals. 

"Calm down, Seung-gil," the light voice says. "It's too early to get serious."

"Seung-gil is right, Phichit," the deep voice admits. "Yuuri broke the law. This is a serious matter."

"We should wait until he's awake at least! Can't talk about the man if he isn't even awake."

"You can continue the conversation," Yuuri calls out, his voice hoarse. "I'm awake."

"Yuuri!" Phichit scurries over to Yuuri's bedside and vigorously checks his pulse.  
Concern is written all over Phichit’s face, from his worried frown to his mussed hair. In the corner of Yuuri’s vision, he can see Otabek. Otabek wears only the barest expression of displeasure, but his slightly tousled hair is a dead giveaway. When Yuuri was still in the Junior Division, and Otabek was in the Arbitrator Academy, he’d only ever seen Otabek with neatly styled locks. 

"Let him go," Seung-gil says, lips quirked downwards in a perpetual glower. "He's alive." 

Phichit ignores him. 

"Yuuri are you okay? Where are your glasses?" 

Phichit sticks his hand on a small table next to the hospital bed, fumbling for a pair of blue frames. 

Leave it to Phichit to worry about that. He’s such a mother hen.

"I have them," Otabek announces, before Phichit can drive himself insane searching for Yuuri’s glasses. With long, efficient strides, Otabek walks toward Yuuri’s bedside and gently hands him the frames.

Yuuri hastily sticks them onto his face, mindful of the IV drip connected to his arm. 

"Yuuri be careful! There's an IV drip connected to your arm, and do you feel sore? Are you hungry, because I know hospital food is terrible—don't worry though, there's this place nearby that has great tom yum and pad thai," Phichit rambles.

"That's enough, Chulanont," Seung-gil interrupts. "He's not going to starve. Stop mothering him; he outranks you."

"He outranks all of us," Phichit says. "And he just woke up from a Lapse!"

"That's the point," Seung-gil interjects, staring at Yuuri. "He collapsed after performing a _Lapse_."

The room goes silent.

"I didn't do it for fun!" Yuuri protests. "I met the silver-haired man, and I needed to tell you, as soon as I could."

"It was too risky. You should have—" Otabek pauses. 

"Gone back to HQ?" Yuuri asks.

"Not happening!" Phichit declares. "If Yuuri had gone back, he would've been detained for the rest of his life!"

"That's ridiculous," Seung-gil says.

"You know the higher-ups better than any of us, Seung-gil. You know they don't like Yuuri."

"I only had one use left in that scythe," Yuuri interrupts. "There was nowhere to go but here."

"Isn't that a three-use scythe?" Phichit asks. "What other techniques did you use? Unless—" Phichit stops, his eyes widening in shock. "Don't tell me you performed three Lapses?"

"Two-and-a-half," Yuuri says. "Once to travel here, and the rest was spent chasing Victor."

"Victor?" Phichit inquires.

"I assume that's the silver-haired man," Otabek says. "Were you careful around him?"

"I don't know," Yuuri admits. "There's a lot that doesn't add up." 

"Which is-?" Seung-gil demands.

"He said that he was an in-between. Not human, not Arbitrator. He's unnaturally fast; before he disappeared, I could've sworn that there was a small fire in his hands. And he said something about not being the only one of his kind." 

"Did he mention the Clockmaster?" 

"No," Yuuri replies. "But I did. He didn't seem to know who the old man was."

Which is really… out of place, Yuuri thinks. Everyone had bet the highest on a possible connection with the Clockmaster. But the subject himself doesn’t know who the old man is. He could be lying, but I don’t think so. That’s not something you could lie about on the fly, and his facial expressions seemed authentic enough.

"Did he mention the databases?" This time, it's Otabek who asks the question. 

"Not at all," Yuuri confirms. "He only mentioned topics I had brought up first, and he escaped before I could ask more."

"So what do we do now?" Phichit wonders. "This doesn't solve anything. Should I contact the other SCYS members and ask for their opinions?"

"No," Otabek says. "Headquarters will be after Yuuri soon. They will find his location and bring him to the court. There is no escaping."

"Yuuri can't escape court, but he can escape a prosecution," Phichit argues. "We have someone who can help with that."

All eyes turn to Seung-gil.

"Why should I?" Seung-gil narrows his eyes and takes a seat, calmly crossing his legs as he uncovers a sleek digital wrist-watch. "What benefit would I get from helping you?"

"Seung-gil, this is not the time!" Phichit hisses. "We need to brainstorm solutions- fast!"

"You're right," Seung gil agrees. "We don't have time. So I'm giving you two minutes to supply me with reasons as to why I should assist you."

Yuuri stares Seung-gil dead in the eyes. "I'll owe you a favor. Anything you want."

"I see." Seung-gil's lips flick up in a show of mild surprise. "You want to play like this?"

"Seung-gil, you shoddy Slytherin!" Phichit yells, marching up to him.

"I have no interest in human popular culture," Seung-gil retorts. "If that was meant to be offensive, you have failed terribly."

"Seung-gil, Yuuri has been a member of our circle for a long time. It's not wise to play such games."

"I'm not playing, Otabek."

"It's fine!" Yuuri says. "I've made my decision. It isn't fair for me to ask so much of Seung-gil and expect him to do it for free."

"Good. Then I promise that I will defend you in front of the Organization if the situation ever arises."

"It's arising now," Phichit snorts. "From my estimates—" Phichit halts to rummage through his pockets before setting down a miniature hourglass, "—we have maybe a day-and-a-half before they send JJ after us. Two if we're lucky." 

"Who?" Yuuri asks.

"JJ," Seung-gil sniffs, "an impertinent brat. You wouldn't know him. He was promoted shortly after you left for a long-term assignment."

"Who he is isn't important," Otabek says. 

"It kinda is," Phichit mumbles.

Otabek ignores Phichit's comment and instead says, "What matters is that he's stubbornly loyal and completely impossible to bargain with. He's effective. Not even Seung-gil can buy you time when he arrives."

"I will _not_ talk to JJ, even if you gave me a thousand favors," Seung-gil warns. "There's no point in making me deal with such a nuisance."

"That's why we need a plan," Phichit says. 

"That is of no concern," Seung-gil says. "I already have one."

"Elaborate?" Phichit says, crossing his arms.

"We will allow JJ to escort Yuuri to his hearing. From there, I will stand for Yuuri and defend his actions."

"And how will you do that?" Otabek asks.

"Simple. We tell my grandfather that Yuuri's Cube-Prototype malfunctioned and that he accidentally mistook a human for something dangerous. He believed that the person who had ventured into his home was hostile, and Yuuri investigated the matter independently. After using the Lapse to follow the mistaken perpetrator, Yuuri decided that since he had already activated one Lapse, another wouldn't hurt."

"That's weak on multiple levels," Otabek remarks. "Yuuri is a SCYS member. He's not so reckless. It will look suspicious if you present your case directly to the High Justice, considering the fact that he’s your grandfather. And also—" a dangerous gleam flashes across Otabek's eyes, "—my Cube-Prototypes do not malfunction."

"No one needs to know that," Seung-gil dismisses. "We can say Yuuri's anxiety resurfaced when his pet died, and that living away from his loved ones affected his mental health, along with the sudden switch in lifestyle. As for my grandfather, don't worry. Others can be convinced later."

"Alright!" Phichit says. "Now that we've said things that could have us arrested, is someone going to ask me about my hourglass?"

"Oh! I just noticed," Yuuri says apologetically. "Is that how you calculated the time we have left?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" Phichit grins. "This is even better than Seung-gil's Apple Watch knockoff! And—" Phichit sneaks a sly look at Yuuri, "—even better than your pocket watch!"

"I had forgotten that you owned a Timepiece, Yuuri," Otabek says. "Why didn't you use it to activate a Lapse instead of the emergency scythe?"

"When I temporarily resigned from Field Arbitrating, HQ confiscated it," Yuuri confesses. "They were going to give it back to me after I had 'proven myself to be stable and responsible.'"

"I suggest you search for a new Timepiece then," Seung-gil says. "You're never going to get that pocket watch back."

Yuuri grimaces. He’d been trying not to think about that. 

"Can we focus on the hourglass now?" Phichit aims his best kicked-puppy look at Seung-gil. 

"Fine."

"Great! So this thing here—" Phichit gestures dramatically at the hourglass, "—can take information from the databases and predict nearly-exact times for arrivals, completions, et cetera!"

"You're a linguist and a historian," Seung-gil says. "Why in the entirety of Universe One would the Organization give you a statistical Timepiece?"

"Because I deserve it," Phichit retorts. "And hourglasses are _very_ historical."

Seung-gil doesn’t roll his eyes at Phichit, on the basis that such behavior is unbecoming, but his disgruntlement can be felt from several feet away.

"So now we wait?" Yuuri inquires. Waiting has always given him more time to think, and more time to agonize.

"You need to heal," Phichit says. "Don't think that what you did was any normal stunt. I'm surprised One's Time Strand didn't rip you to pieces. Fiber optic cables," Phichit shudders, "nasty business."

"Phichit, you’re unfamiliar with them. In reality, they’re unintimidating. You might find them boring, docile even," Otabek informs him.

"They're too stubborn," Yuuri says. "And I never want to wrestle with them again, no matter what anyone says."

"Good choice," Seung-gil says. "You can say that in front of the jury."

A thoughtful expression flits across Otabek's face. "Can you predict who will be part of the jury for cases like this?" 

"Yeah," Phichit says grimly. "Traditionally, with regular Arbitrators, the Organization would randomly select jurors who could either accept or decline the invitation based on their current condition, much like a human jury. However, Yuuri's a SCYS member. They're going to recall the rest of the Squadron to Universe One for this."

Seung-gil focuses his vision on Yuuri, razor-sharp eyesight detailing every inch of Yuuri's face.

"This complicates things," Seung-gil says. "A random jury is easy to manipulate, but a jury of SCYS members? Start praying, Katsuki. I don't make miracles happen."

"What about Giacometti?" Otabek suggests. "He and Yuuri are close."

"Well," Yuuri begins, looking sheepishly at the other occupants of the room, "Chris and I didn't see eye-to-eye the last time we met. And I can never really tell what he might say. He's a bit of a wild card. But I'm sure that he'll defend me if the situation takes a turn for the worst."

"Mark Christophe down as 'pending,'" Phichit advises. "Anyone else?"

"There's Minako," Yuuri replies. "She taught me in the Arbitrator Academy, and she voted in favor of me joining the Squadron."

"I thought she retired," Phichit says.

"She did, in a way," Seung-gil says. "But she does have influence remaining from her youth. With my support, her voice will be much more powerful."

"Wow." Phichit whistles. "Who would've thought that the most anti-social member of this team had such good connections?"

Seung-gil doesn’t comment. Everyone and their mother knows how influential he is, and at times like this, Yuuri’s glad Seung-gil’s on their team. 

"Giacometti, Okukawa, and Seung-gil can vouch for Yuuri," Otabek summarizes. "Phichit and I will see which of our peers is also willing to join the case."

"Leo will totally vouch for you!" Phichit exclaims. "He thinks you're great, Yuuri."

"Thank you for helping me," Yuuri says bashfully. "I'm sorry for my reckless behavior."

"Remember the favor," Seung-gil reminds. "I don't do charity work."

His haughty tone is meant to be intimidating, but Yuuri isn’t so easily cowed. Not by Seung-gil, who once reluctantly admitted that he cared about his friends.

"Thank you." Yuuri beams at Seung-gil, shocking him with his bright smile. "Thank you."

 

___________

 

A resounding boom echoes through Yuuri's small hospital room, rattling the thin frame of his bed. Lightning grasps the edges of the sky and reclines on its throne of clouds, stealing the limelight from famous landmarks. The window next to Yuuri's bed is latched shut, but the curtains have been thrown open, and the storm outside performs vivaciously, throwing out claps of thunder, twirling above the Manhattan skyline. 

Phichit had insisted that Yuuri needed rest, and even went so far as to procure Yuuri a new hospital room in a quieter wing of the human hospital. (All on Otabek's tab, of course.) Yet, despite Phichit's efforts, Yuuri can’t sleep. Instead, he watches the rain fall outside, first in scattered droplets, and then in a steady stream. 

Rain comforts him in a way that few things do. Yuuri's old hometown in Hasetsu, a quiet retirement town for Japanese Arbitrators, had storms often; its proximity to the sea often whipped up all sorts of precipitation.

 _The Japanese language has at least fifty nouns for varying types of rain,_ Yuuri thinks. _The intensity of rain, the temperature of rain, rain with other types of precipitation- we have it all. Rain follows me as much as I follow it. There's really no escaping the rain, is there?_

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

Yuuri turns and faces the door, smiling at the man leaning against the wall. 

"I couldn't," Yuuri replies. "I fell asleep after you left, but the storm woke me up."

"There is too much rain here. If only Arbitrators could control the weather.".

"That'd be nice, wouldn't it? To be able to jump through time and travel to different universes, all during a sunny day."

"What is it like?"

"What?" Yuuri asks. "To be able to jump?"

"Yes."

"It's wonderful, Otabek. You feel free."

"Odd," Otabek says, motioning to Yuuri's bed and IV drip. "For a person who has jumped, you don't look very… free."

"Is that a joke?" Yuuri chuckles. "I suppose it's because I came into contact with the 'enemy.'"

Otabek raises his eyebrows. "Are you laughing on my behalf? I have… re-evaluated my impressions of that man."

"Do you still think Victor tampered with the database?"

"I'm unsure," Otabek responds. "He seems mysterious, from your descriptions, but not evil. If he does not know of the Clockmaster, there is a chance that he does not know of our fascination towards him. He might have told the truth- that he was there to fetch his dog."

"I'll continue to do research," Yuuri assures him. "I'll get answers."

"We," Otabek says. "We will get answers. I have questions of my own."

"The database?"

"That," begins Otabek, "and more. You said that the man-"

"Victor," Yuuri interrupts.

"Victor. You said that Victor mentioned others."

"He did," Yuuri confirms. "Other 'in-betweens,' just like him."

"There way this boy," Otabek recalls. "Mysterious, like your silver-haired man. He would appear spontaneously, but he never seemed to age. Years went by and he looked the same. He was small and lithe, with bright hair. I saw him often when I visited Moscow, and then when I visited Saint Petersburg."

"Could you have been mistaken?" Yuuri asks. "He could have been human."

"No," Otabek answers. "I used to frequent Russia. He would always be in the same two cities, near the same areas. I saw his face a few times, over a course of several years. He did not age."

"Why did you never bring this up?"

"I believed that I was mistaken, but now that Victor has appeared, it seems much more plausible."

"You think that Victor and this strange boy are connected," Yuuri states.

"Victor, the boy, my databases- they are all connected. Whether through us or the Organization, they are connected."

The rain outside picks up, drumming against the hospital window. A flash of lightning illuminates the room, highlighting Otabek's grave expression. 

"Then maybe this everlasting rain is connected too," Yuuri says.

Stepping into the room, Otabek makes his way next to Yuuri's bedside and looks out the window. Another rumble of thunder shakes the sky.

"You should be familiar with this type of rain. Yu-dachi is the expression, no?"

"It's not late summer," Yuuri informs. "Yu-dachi is for sudden _summer_ thunderstorms. Particularly ones in the evening."

"I see," Otabek says. "Almaty receives rain, but not like New York does. I believe your home country receives even more."

"It does." 

"Your family hasn't called," Otabek says. "Do they know?"

"No. They haven't heard from me since Vicchan died. I stopped calling and they… gave me space, I suppose."

"Ah," Otabek replies. "What do you want to do now? After this?"

"I don't know," Yuuri mumbles, collapsing against his pillows. "I don't know anything anymore. Victor, your mysterious boy, the Organization, the Squadron." 

Yuuri's voice cracks and hot tears slide down his face. The room is silent, save for Yuuri's quiet sobbing and the occasional thunder. Otabek's eyes soften as he looks at Yuuri, but he says nothing. Outside, rain continues to drown New York. 

"I'm sorry!" Yuuri cries. "I messed up; I didn't find any answers, just more questions and I," Yuuri hiccups and tries to calm his shaking voice, "I should just quit. I'm getting nowhere." 

A lengthy silence blankets the room, and it takes several minutes before any sound- save the sloshing of rain- can be heard. 

"You are too young," says Otabek. "Too young to retire."

"I won't be able to keep my position," Yuuri says, struggling to maintain a steady tone. "And you may lose yours. I'll embarrass you in front of the entire Organization! I..."

"They cannot do anything to me," Otabek murmurs. "Nor can they do anything to Seung-gil and Phichit. We are strategic players. Seung-gil has connections. Phichit has knowledge. And I," Otabek allows himself a slight smirk, "I have assets. Don't worry about us."

"I-"

Otabek cuts Yuuri off. "Focus on saving your strength."

Otabek reaches out and slowly joins the curtains, removing Yuuri's view of the storm. As he steps away from the bed, out of the room and into the hall, Otabek says, "There is no need to create another storm for yourself, when there is already one outside."

The door shuts, and he is gone. Slow, aching tears gather in Yuuri's eyes and disappear over the curve of his cheek. Yuuri stares blankly at the ceiling, wondering if flaking paint could ever be as impressive as the billowing clouds that strangle the sky. 

The answer, though left unsaid, is a resounding 'no.'

 

__________

 

"We've really seen a dramatic increase of rain over the past two days, isn't that right? Be careful in the subway folks, and stay safe! Also, this just in; the President has signed a new executive order regarding the Endangered Species Act of 1973-"

The cheerful news anchor's sentence is cut off as Phichit lifts his finger from the TV remote's power button. With a loud sigh, he flops back onto the springy leather couch and closes his eyes.

A voice Phichit registers as Otabek says, "I don't know why you insist on watching human news coverage if it only dampens your mood."

"The History Channel had a special on European myths," Phichit mumbles. "I wanted to see how many I could debunk."

"Then why are you watching a news report?" The question was spoken by someone with a bland, imperious tone; a distinctly Seung-gil-like voice.

"Human politics are fascinating," Phichit says. "And there's an absolute Twitter firestorm right now."

"We are Arbitrators," Seung-gil chides. "We have no business with human politics and social media."

"We'll be alive longer than any of them," Phichit counters. "If Titanic 2.0 happens, then we sink too."

Another body settles itself near Phichit, sinking down into the soft couch. Phichit opens his eyes and lifts head. Otabek is lounging comfortably in the adjoining seat, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. 

"This is tiring," Otabek says. "Nothing is happening. Is the Organization not concerned with Yuuri?"

"They are concerned," Seung-gil says blithely. "They want to strike us unexpectedly, that's all. You of all people should know how business works, Otabek."

"This is a matter of policy. I cede my credibility to you."

Seung-gil doesn't comment and turns to Phichit asking, "How is Katsuki? Well enough for the trial?"

"Yuuri's fine," Phichit replies. "He seemed pale yesterday, but now he's pretty much completely recovered. It really says something about his stamina."

"The two-day time frame you predicted is almost over. If you are correct, JJ will come either today or tomorrow."

"I'll bet on today," Otabek says. "He is a very… ambitious person."

Phichit nods his head in agreement. 

"I never asked but—" Otabek questions, "—why did you admit Yuuri into a human hospital? Our caretakers are loyal. Equally effective."

"Loyal or not, gossip spreads," Seung-gil answers in place of Phichit. "It's safer for him to be placed in a private hospital, with no personal ties. Professionalism is key."

"The staff is too professional," Phichit says, laughing quietly. "Yuuri's going crazy in there. He wants out, badly."

"In a hurry to go to court?" Seung-gil says amusedly.

"In a hurry to feel sane again," a fourth voice says.

Seung-gil, Phichit, and Otabek look up to see a drenched Yuuri in their flat. 

"Yuuri!" Phichit gasps, launching himself off the couch. "You're supposed to be at the hospital! How did you even get here?"

"I snuck out," Yuuri admits, peeling off a soaked coat. "You left your coat in the room, along with a paper that had an address scrawled on it."

"You are not nearly well enough to walk several miles in the rain," Otabek berates. 

"I didn't walk here," Yuuri denies. "I took the subway. There was money left in the coat too."

"Go dry off," Phichit commands. "I'll get you a hot chocolate when you come back. My room is the one with a poster of a hamster on the door."

Yuuri complies and staggers into a small hallway, disappearing into one of the three doors.

"The Squadron are… interesting," Otabek says. "Yuuri is an open book, but there is no end to his chapters."

"Hope that he has a chapter for deceit," Seung-gil says dryly. "He's not convincing enough for me to weave this bullshit around my grandfather."

Seung-gil's smile is sardonic, a cynical sneer that expresses no real amusement. 

"I'm sorry that you have to lie," Phichit says. "Especially to your grandfather. I know how hard it is for you-"

"Don't apologize on my behalf." Seung-gil's eyes are deadly, his usually apathetic face marred by a twisted scowl. "Whether or not I lie to my grandfather is none of your business."

Seung-gil turns on his heel and marches out of the flat, though not before shooting Phichit a freezing stare. "You know nothing."

The door slams shut.

"I just wanted to be nice," Phichit groans. 

"You know better than to input your opinion," Otabek says quietly. "This is a sensitive topic for him."

"I felt bad!" Phichit pouts, plopping himself back onto the couch.

"He'll be back soon, pretending like it never happened."

As Phichit and Otabek's conversation fades into a contemplative silence, Yuuri exits the hall and re-enters the living room, making his way to the adjoining kitchen. A towel is nested on his head, flattening his damp hair. He's dressed simply, in one of Phichit's old t-shirts and some loose sweatpants.

"Did I miss anything?"

"Nothing important," Phichit says, ushering Yuuri into a chair. "I'll get your hot chocolate."

"That's not necessary," Yuuri says, eyes downcast. The cautiously happy mood of the room dissipates, replaced by the sound of splattering rain against the roof and windows. Yuuri takes a deep breath, his towel dripping water onto the smooth tile. 

"It feels like an eternity," Yuuri begins, his arms hanging limply at his sides. "Not just what's happened so far. Where do I go from here? Why haven't I been happy? Why does it rain everywhere I go?" Yuuri whispers the last sentence, mostly to himself. 

Phichit stares at Yuuri's hunched form, shivering in the small chair. A glass cup clinks as it's set in front of Yuuri. The water inside sways lightly before it stills. Both Yuuri and Phichit look up to see Otabek, a slight melancholy dancing in his eyes. 

"Drink it." Otabek slides the glass towards Yuuri, beckoning him to take a sip. Yuuri takes the cup, and with trembling fingers, lifts it up to take a gulp. Nothing more is said between the three of them, but Yuuri allows himself a weak smile before he drinks again, this time a careful sip.

Through the large window next to the couch, Yuuri can see a bolt of lightning fork across the graphite sky, a smear of white against a black canvas. 

Another sip of water.

That night, the storm ebbs and cackles like an ancient lullaby, at times crooning a steady tune, at times wailing with a breathy staccato. Phichit had insisted that all three of them retire early, and Otabek agreed, although reluctantly. There was no sign of JJ; besides the heavy rain, everything was eerily still. There was no sign of Seung-gil either. 

Otabek had mumbled a quick "he is _fine,_ " and then locked himself in his bedroom. Phichit had said the same thing and then proceeded to shove Yuuri into a bed stacked sky-high with pillows, blankets, and the occasional stuffed hamster. Yuuri had refused, saying that it was Phichit's bed and that he could sleep on the floor.

"Go to sleep, Yuuri," is the only thing Phichit said before he settled on a freshly unrolled sleeping bag.

 

__________

 

Yuuri is woken by the sound of stillness. 

Phichit is fast asleep on the floor, and there's no noise coming from Otabek's room. The flat is silent. The rain, a constant presence these past few days, has stopped. The thunder is gone, and even the faintest splash of water can't be heard. 

It's an unsettling quiet. 

Yuuri lifts himself up from the bed and tip-toes outside, careful not to disturb Phichit. The hall is empty. The living room and kitchen are empty too. No one had closed the curtains before they had gone to sleep, the polished glass allowing Yuuri to see the tops of smaller buildings below. 

There are no cars on the road. 

Most of the lights from surrounding buildings seem… duller, with some lights extinguished entirely. Manhattan's streets look ghostly, the lights remaining a spectral glow. The trees outside spread their bony limbs with the wind. A soft, nearly indiscernible wind. 

"Otabek?" Yuuri calls out. "Phichit? I hate to wake you up, but I have this bad feeling-"

Three knocks on the door ring throughout the house. Slow, powerful, and loud. 

Yuuri glances around anxiously, searching for a clock. The antique wall clock hanging above the kitchen pantry is pointing to the eleven mark.

11:58 P.M., Yuuri thinks, realization dawning upon him. Two minutes until the two days are up. 

"You heard it?" 

Yuuri whirls around, coming face to face with Otabek. The man is composed, with his black hair neatly slicked back, dressed in a well-tailored suit. 

"Is it JJ?"

Otabek's smile is sharper than broken glass. 

Three knocks echo through the apartment again, only louder and more forceful. Otabek strides to the door, thrusting it open. 

A rush of déjà vu sweeps over Yuuri. And then it stops.

The man on the other side of the door is an unfamiliar figure, taller than both Yuuri and Otabek. The moonless night reveals little of his features, but the dark isn't a problem- not for them. The man outside is an Arbitrator. Yuuri can feel it. 

"Are you copying my hairstyle, Otabek?" the man asks. 

Yuuri looks at the stranger again. His black hair is styled in an undercut, similar to Otabek's. A cocky smirk rests on the man's lips.

"A dramatic entrance," Otabek says. "Very much like you."

The man's teal-blue eyes narrow. 

"Then allow me to introduce myself," he replies. "Jean-Jacques Leroy, at your service, but you can call me JJ. Make this easy on yourself and I won't have to remove you by force."

"Oh?" Otabek's dark eyes are stony.

"You don't have to be involved in this," JJ says. "I'm after one person, and one person only." JJ's gaze shifts to Yuuri.

"It took you two days to find us," Otabek says, quietly taunting JJ. "Did you get lost?"

JJ's smirk contorts. 

Turning towards Yuuri, JJ says, "The Organization has formally requested me to bring you back to London, on several charges. As a SCYS member, I'm sure you know all your rights. Come with me, and we won't have any problems."

A shiver runs down Yuuri's spine. It's happening. It's really happening. Yuuri had known it would, in all honesty, had expected it, but- a sinking feeling of terror grips Yuuri. 

"Yuuri," Otabek says. "Go. We will be there."

Yuuri looks up at JJ and then glances back toward Otabek. His mouth is set in a grim line, but his face is impassive. Don't mess with JJ any longer, Otabek seems to say. We know what can be done, what you must do.

"Well, if this isn't a show," a stoic voice says.

Yuuri and Otabek let out relieved sighs. Seung-gil is back. 

JJ turns around, ready to ask a question, but the words die on his lips.

"Seung-gil."

"JJ," Seung-gil acknowledges. "Finish your business, then leave. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to disturb someone this late at night?"

"Seung-gil," JJ says again, his voice tinged with an odd emotion.

It sounds like- Yuuri thinks. It sounds like yearning.

Seung-gil ignores JJ and narrows his eyes at Yuuri. 

"You heard Otabek," Seung-gil says. "Go."

Seung-gil doesn't turn around, doesn't look at JJ, but he spits out a rapid "do your job," before slinking back into the apartment. 

For a second, Yuuri sees a bitter gleam in JJ's eyes. Just for a second, before JJ's smirk reappears, though more forced than before.

Otabek gives Yuuri one last nod. Yuuri returns it, head bobbing down slightly, jaw trembling. It's happening.

JJ lifts an eyebrow. "Well?"

Yuuri nods again, wordlessly making his way toward JJ. JJ gestures down to the street, where a sleek car is parked in front of the high-rise building. 

"It was good seeing you again, Otabek," JJ says, as he and Yuuri begin to walk away. 

"I'd like to say the same, JJ," Otabek says. "A shame that I can't."

JJ's chuckle is too loud in the still night.

 

__________

 

Time passes nonsensically as if Earth had suddenly forgotten how many hours are in a day. JJ had brought Yuuri back to London last week, in one of the private jets reserved for the Squadron. Upon re-entering the U.K., Yuuri was dumped in HQ, forced to stay in the "Resident's Wing." In reality, it was little more than a glorified prison, despite its luxuries. 

The Organization kept its leash on Yuuri tight; no leaving HQ, no training, don't contact anyone- the list of restrictions are endless. 

Mila came to visit Yuuri once, three days before his appointed court date. She didn't say anything, just stared. Mila had given Yuuri a chocolate bar, a vague smile, and then promptly left. He didn't get any visitors after that. 

 

__________

 

Yuuri is watching hail plummet to the ground when someone knocks on his door. Three knocks: loud and uniform ring through his room- his cell- and Yuuri knows it's JJ. 

"Open up," JJ calls from the other side. In a softer voice, JJ says, "Don't prolong the wait."

Yuuri opens the door. 

JJ is dressed smartly, different from the last time Yuuri had seen him. In a casual but professional white dress shirt and a dark pair of slacks, JJ looks less like the menacing, ostentatious prison guard and more like the normal businessman that prowls around London.

"You have twenty minutes," JJ says. "Get ready quickly."

Yuuri nods, ready to close the door, but then stops in his tracks. "Do you… want to come in?" Yuuri asks. "You can wait in the kitchen while I get dressed."

JJ's omnipresent smirk slips, replaced by a genuine, surprised smile. "Sure," he says. "If you want me to."

"Then come in." Yuuri opens the door wider, in order to let JJ in, then closes it. "The cups are in the fourth drawer to the right if you want to drink some water. I'll… be back soon." Yuuri slips into the bedroom of the mini-apartment and stares at the large wardrobe, before carefully opening the mahogany doors. 

Knowing the Organization, they probably stocked this place full of suits, Yuuri thinks. Let's hope I find one that fits. 

The wardrobe is stacked full, with colorful ties and endless rows of starched shirts and black slacks. Yuuri notes, with amusement, that there's even a hot pink suit crammed in the back, next to a row of leather dress shoes. After sifting through the clothes for a few minutes, Yuuri grabs a nondescript suit with a pale teal-gray tie. He takes a deep breath, then gets dressed.

“Oh,” is the first thing JJ says when Yuuri exits his room. “You should try slicked hair,” is the second. 

The trial, JJ tells Yuuri, won't be held in London. HQ, the administrative capital of the Organization, is located in the English Branch. The Bureau of Justice resides in Paris. Yuuri already knows all this- knows the reasoning behind the separation of HQ and the Justice Building. Nevertheless, he lets JJ talk. Seung-gil might have less than amicable feelings toward JJ, but Yuuri doesn't think he's that bad. Arrogant and a bit presumptuous sure, but JJ's only doing his job.

"Hey," JJ says, distracting Yuuri from his reveries. "Hurry up and go outside."

JJ leads Yuuri into the hall, down the stairs, straight across Mila's (surprisingly empty) lobby, and into the parking lot.

"My car's the one right there," JJ says, pointing to a sleek red convertible. "Beautiful, right?"

It's not really Yuuri's style, but he gives JJ a polite “it's nice” anyways. JJ either doesn't notice or doesn't mind, because he hops into the car and opens the door for Yuuri without any comment. 

Yuuri steps into the car gingerly and buckles his seatbelt. There's a small plush moose holding the Canadian flag sitting in the front of the car, in the corner against the windshield. 

"You're Canadian?" Yuuri asks, as JJ starts the engine and begins to drive out of HQ. 

"Did you think I was French?" JJ returns. 

_He's a careful driver,_ Yuuri notices, as JJ stops when needed and doesn't try to outrun an amber light. 

"Your name sounds French," Yuuri says. 

"Well," JJ says. "I'm Québécois."

Nothing is said for a period of time. JJ concentrates on the road, and Yuuri concentrates on the blurry colors as the car navigates through the uncommonly empty streets. 

The silence reaches a restless apex. The car is stuffy, the air around Yuuri and JJ awkward. 

"So," Yuuri starts, "someone told me you were promoted. Congratulations."

"It's been years since I was promoted," JJ says. "A little late for congratulations."

Yuuri coughs stiffly. He'd known that JJ was promoted shortly after he'd left, but you can't blame a man for wanting to start a conversation.

"I'll be the next member of the SCYS," JJ proclaims. "I'm the one best suited to be the next member." JJ looks at Yuuri briefly before returning his gaze on the road. "You'll pitch in a few good words for me, right?"

Yuuri shakes his head. "I don't think my opinion will be worth much, JJ. After this, I probably won't be a SCYS member at all."

JJ's tightens his grip on the steering wheel but says nothing. The tension in the car doubles.

"How is—" Yuuri says reluctantly. "How is your relationship with Otabek? When you came to… get me, you seemed rather casual with him."

"Otabek and I attended the Arbitrator Academy together," JJ says. "We used to be friends."

Yuuri tries to repress his curious stare. "What happened?"

"Otabek joined Phichit's team in New York, and I was given a new position in Paris, with the Bureau of Justice," JJ says. 

"Oh," Yuuri says. "Well, sorry if it was weird for you. And sorry about Seung-gil, he wasn't at his best when you saw him."

"Kim Yuna could come out of retirement and Seung-gil would still hate me," JJ says. "He's hated me for a long time."

JJ seems uncomfortable discussing the subject further, so Yuuri changes the topic. 

"Kim Yuna? Is she retired now? And I didn't think you cared about human figure skating."

"I'm Canadian," JJ says, as if that statement held the answer to the meaning of life. "And Seung-gil loves Korean pop culture. He had an autographed poster of her."

"Seung-gil hates pop culture," Yuuri said, confused. "He's too serious to care about those things."

"He's changed, then," JJ says tightly. 

Another awkward silence. Yuuri turns and looks out of the window, quaint shops whizzing by as the car speeds up. The silence lasts for a little while longer before JJ asks Yuuri a wary question.

"Why did you do it?"

Yuuri assumes JJ means the Lapse. That's what got them into this whole mess, anyways.

"I had to."

The rest of the car ride is spent in silence. JJ doesn't speak, and Yuuri doesn't feel like fishing for more answers. It seems that lately, all he's done is chase after answers- from Victor to JJ and everyone else in between. It'd be good if someone would just tell him what it all means, but who will? No one knows everything, and Yuuri knows least of all. He's an Arbitrator, not a detective. All he knows is how to swing scythes and spin clock hands, but this empty, sodden universe won't even let him do that. 

Lost in thought, Yuuri doesn't notice that they've arrived at an airport until JJ hollers at him to hurry up. 

The large, blocky terminal is reminiscent of HQ's exterior, only this building is dichromatic: a light gray and slate blue. Bold, heavyset font on a broad sign identifies the building as the London City Airport. The place is teeming with people; heel clacking against the concrete and the squealing of luggage wheels are constant sounds. 

"The Organization booked tickets a few days ago," JJ says as he and Yuuri maneuver through the crowd and into the airport. "Don't worry about customs. We might be traveling the human way, but they won't question us. We've been good to them for too long."

JJ's smug grin has re-attached itself on his face, and the Arbitrator strolls across the airport like it's a fashion runway. Several feet away from them, a group of girls stop and huddle in a circle; they aren't discreet about the way they're pointing and giggling at JJ's general direction, but he doesn't seem to mind. Instead, JJ flashes them a blinding grin and waves his arms into a dramatic pose.

"It's JJ Style, ladies!"

"JJ!" Yuuri whisper-yells, tugging the man from his spot. "We're in an airport!"

JJ gives Yuuri a reassuring smile and winks at the girls before sauntering off. 

"Where's our flight?" Yuuri asks, walking rapidly to meet with JJ's large stride. 

Pointing to a waiting area, JJ says, "Over there."

There's already a line of people forming, eager to board the plane. Dirty looks are thrown at JJ as he squeezes into the line, along with Yuuri. When it's their turn for a ticket examination, JJ slips a thin, shiny piece of paper towards the lady checking the tickets. The lady gives him a brief nod, and he and Yuuri are given permission to enter the plane. 

"She's a retired Arbitrator," JJ says, answering Yuuri's nonverbal question. "The Organization sometimes calls in favors from past operatives."

JJ's explanation is interrupted by a flight attendant ushering them into the plane. Their seats are near the front of the cabin, so there's minimal shuffling as Yuuri and JJ settle in their cramped row.

"Why are we flying economy class? I thought you'd want to take one of the Squadron's planes," Yuuri asks.

"I tried." JJ shrugs and buckles his seatbelt. "They're all in use, flying the rest of the SCYS to Paris. London's close to Paris, so the Organization told me to settle for economy class instead."

Yuuri shifts in his seat and buckles his own seat belt. 

"Relax," JJ says. "Do whatever, but don't wrinkle the suit. It's only about an hour and a half."

Yuuri smiles nervously, attempts to recline against his seat, and closes his eyes. And then, oblivion.

It feels like only seconds have passed before Yuuri is jolted awake by the plane's descent. The captain's voice booms out of the intercom above, informing passengers of the plane's arrival and how to exit the aircraft. JJ is asleep next to him, utterly dead to the world. 

"JJ," Yuuri mutters, softly tugging at the other man's arm. "JJ wake up!"

JJ springs up against his seat, throwing himself forward. 

"I'm awake!" After rubbing his head, JJ gives the cabin a once-over and then declares, "Let's go. We've landed."

Yuuri throws JJ a mildly exasperated look but decides not to comment. The pair makes their way out of the plane, shuffling through the narrow aisle. Polite sorrys and excuse-mes are exchanged as Yuuri and JJ battle their way to the exit. 

When they've left the plane, JJ starts briefing Yuuri on the trail. His tone is urgent, and he's spewing out a thousand words a minute. 

"Nothing goes wrong when I'm in charge," JJ reassures Yuuri. 

They're walking rapidly through the airport; somehow, when they reach customs, no one seems to bat an eye. They aren't stopped or searched, simply let through. It's discreet enough that other people don't notice, and nothing more is said to them. 

_The same thing had happened in London,_ Yuuri thinks. _Old money can buy anything._

While Yuuri's internally scoffing at the Organization's less-than-righteous methods of persuasion, JJ begins to speed up. Yuuri struggles to catch up as JJ jogs outside and practically leaps into the arms of a lustrous, black limousine. Yuuri follows. 

JJ immediately throws a barrage of rapid-fire French at the driver, a pretty woman with dark corkscrew curls and a wide smile. Yuuri's French is decent—better than decent—from his years traveling across universes and camping out in Twenty-two, but it's nothing compared to JJ's. 

Or Chris's, Yuuri thinks. Despite his distaste for Universe Twenty-two's "Frenchiness," Chris speaks the language of love better than Cupid himself. 

Yuuri's French, on the other hand, is good, but heavily influenced by Twenty-two. While the two are similar enough, Universe Twenty-two's French and Universe One's French are also vastly different. In Twenty-two, Yuuri could hold lengthy conversations on numerous topics. In One, Yuuri struggles to comprehend the entirety of JJ's instructions to their driver. 

"Merci mademoiselle," JJ says, back straight, legs crossed. 

_He looks gentlemanly in this light,_ Yuuri observes. JJ's smile is kind, and he's the epitome of manners, sitting nicely and quietly. 

"Is she a… ?" Yuuri asks uncertainly.

"No," JJ responds. "We'll be there soon. Just stay still."

"Why are you in such a rush? Not that I'm complaining, I mean," Yuuri says hastily.

JJ's eyes darken just a fraction. "This is a big assignment. I don't mess up, of course, so I make sure to do my job correctly."

 _Oh,_ Yuuri gasps, in his mind. _JJ's… nervous. Unsure about this assignment, for whatever reason._

Yuuri chuckles anxiously to himself. 

_That makes the both of us._

 

__________

 

Wide, mammoth doors rise above him, so tall they seem to touch the sky. The deep, rich hue of walnut wood is unmistakable, especially when combined with such exquisite detailing.

The Organization's most prestigious courtroom commands luxury, and Yuuri isn't even in the actual room yet. He's outside, in a lobby-like area, with ten minutes to spare before his trial begins. 

He had known this would happen, had known before he'd uncapped that pen, had known before he'd miraculously landed in New York. It didn't seem so real then. The night JJ came to collect him, the reality had dawned on Yuuri but… it didn't feel as real as it should. As real as it does now. 

His hands are quivering, his throat closing up. Any minute now, and he'll break into a clammy sweat.

Yuuri's terrified, and even though there's a plan, plans can always, always go wrong. Logic and reason prance around in Yuuri's brain, knocking up against his skull, demanding that he calm down. Yet standing here, in front of these massive doors, Yuuri feels small, like his logic doesn't matter at all. Like if they wanted to, those doors could crush him in an instant, and he'd be gone. 

Beside him, JJ clears his throat. 

"You can freshen up over there," JJ says, pointing to a corridor with a turn. "The restroom is around the corner."

The uneasy smile that spreads on JJ's lips is unnerving.

"When you hear a large bell, the doors will open for you. Don't be late."

With that statement, JJ walks away, ducking into a smaller door in the corridor opposite to the restrooms. 

After standing still for a moment, Yuuri turns and steps lightly toward the restrooms. He's about to turn the corner when a hand grabs the collar of his suit jacket and drags him into a shadowy hall.

"What the-" 

Yuuri is silenced by a large hand. Twisting his head, he can see the contour of the figure's body. 

Masculine, Yuuri notes. And tall. Taller than both him and JJ. Yuuri twists his body further until he meets a pair of penetrating hazel eyes. 

"Chris?" Yuuri yells, forcing himself out of the other man's grasp. 

"Hush, Yuuri," Chris says, holding a finger to Yuuri's lips. "This is a conversation I'd like to keep private."

Yuuri nods, looking down at his shoes. 

"You're here for the trial, aren't you? I've heard they recalled every SCYS member back for this. Even those outside of Universe One."

"Yes," Chris confirms. "I just arrived. The rest are probably already in the hall, waiting for the trial." Chris pauses then adds, "Or they're being seduced by your little friend. Seung-gil, is it?"

"Chris," Yuuri warns, though it's rather weak. His voice is too shaky to sound serious or intimidating. 

"Disregard that last comment then," Chris says. "We don't have time, so I won't ask how you managed to Lapse across the Atlantic. The details will probably present themselves soon. But," Chris pauses, staring into Yuuri's eyes, "I know that you are not a fool. You wouldn't perform a Lapse, not unless the situation was dire enough. You met Victor, didn't you?"

"You knew?" Yuuri whispers furiously, half betrayed and half curious. "You knew and you baited me all this time?"

"There are some things that I'm not at liberty to say," Chris dismisses. "But that's not the point right now."

Chris's eyes are blazing, more green than hazel at the moment. His carefree grin is pulled into a tight frown, a stark contrast from his usually breezy demeanor. 

"Don't say anything about Victor. Don't mention him, don't mention his name. I'm sure your politically gifted friend has already thought of a plan, so unless it contains mentions of Victor, follow it. I don't care what you do, and how you do it, but don't mention him. Don't even think about him."

"I know," Yuuri says, fighting down a bubble of panic. "I know, I know, I know."

"Good," Chris says, backing away from Yuuri. The turbulent light in Chris's eyes is softer, more muted; Yuuri is met with a gentle smile. 

"Play the game convincingly," Chris says. "You have more secret weapons than you think. Play well, and those old bats will never catch you."

Rolling back his sleeve, Chris checks his elaborate wrist-watch. 

"Two minutes. Good luck," he says, giving Yuuri one last look over his shoulder before he disappears against a small door.

"Right," Yuuri mumbles, deciding to forgo a trip to the restroom. He's sure that his suit is unwrinkled and that his hair looks fine, for the most part. 

Once again, Yuuri finds himself in front of the large wooden doors. He doesn't have to wait long before a loud ringing vibrates throughout the hall. Yuuri takes a deep breath, positioning himself in front of the twin doors.

Then, with a thunderous boom, they swing wide open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, the longest chapter yet! It was an interesting experience, writing this. I made so many grammar mistakes I didn't even know exist, but thankfully, renaissance worked their magic (what would I do without you). I hope you enjoyed, and as always, please leave me comments, concerns, etc.!


	4. Ville À La Mer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two towns by the sea and, by extension, two secrets by the sea. 
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta-reader, [renaissance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance)!

His feet are numb.

Seaspray splashes onto his cheeks, glistening under the moonlight. Water pools around his ankles as waves ebb back and forth over the rough shore. It's early in the summer—the dreaded Japanese humidity is not yet at its peak—but the monsoon season has begun. So far, this year's summer rain, the everlasting tsuyu, is the same as it's always been. 

_Rain is rain,_ Yuuri thinks. _Rain has been the same for millennia._

Except Yuuri knows that's not true. Being friends with Phichit teaches you things—weather patterns over the last century, carbon emission trends, the hashtag of the year on Twitter—you name it. Admittedly, Yuuri doesn't always pay attention to Phichit's ramblings (especially when they start to get political), but nevertheless, he appreciates Phichit's talent for making _carbon emission trends_ sound interesting. 

It's times like this when Yuuri longs for something… more. The Japanese Branch is peaceful and quietly devoted to technology research. They've bred some exceptional Field Arbitrators in the past few decades (a fact which Yuuri is intensely proud of), but that number has declined. There are no other Japanese Field Arbitrators, none that Yuuri can speak with. 

_Though now,_ Yuuri thinks, _they wouldn't talk to me even if I begged them to._

His parents had welcomed him back with open arms, but he knew that the Japanese Branch resented him. Sure, Yuuri was lucky—he'd gotten away with barely a slap on the wrist—but the punishment still left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

A temporary suspension is disgraceful, no matter how harsh the alternatives might be. As Japan's only Field Arbitrator, it was Yuuri’s duty to make his compatriots proud. He failed. 

He had broken a law, a sacred law that even the most liberal of Arbitrators hesitated to tamper with. He'd broken a law and had paid for it. 

Otabek had told Yuuri to lay low and stay out of the spotlight—no matter how hard that might be—but he didn't know how much Yuuri loathed them. Spotlights shone with a sickly light; they were ugly and spun dizzily, scorching everyone under their relentless beams. Yuuri was often left feeling a tad more than just nauseous. 

_Damn,_ Yuuri thinks, dragging his fingers through the sand. _What can I do right?_

No-one in Hasetsu understood. Yuuri had tried to tell his parents about it once—the stress, the sleeplessness—but they never really understood. His mom and dad would fuss over him and be concerned, just like they always were. But they had retired long ago, and they'd certainly never been Field Arbitrators. 

Yuuri would've explained further but… his parents enjoyed peaceful, worry-free Hasetsu, with its wide, wide sky and endless sea. There wasn't anything to be gained by making them worry about him, not when they had an onsen to run. Not when they'd already given up so much. 

He'd brought it on himself. No-one else needed to be involved in it. 

By now, the tide has risen. Icy water soaks into his clothes; salt whips across his stinging eyes. Yuuri doesn't move. 

The evening is alive today; the last of the songbirds are returning to their roosts, unconcerned about the frosty sea. 

In the years that Yuuri has been gone, everything has changed. Everything and nothing. On the surface, the air, the sea, the birds, and the trees are all too familiar. They're the same flighty birds and the same rolling seas that comprised Yuuri's entire childhood. But they're also not. The flock of birds is smaller now, their feathers not as vibrant. The sea is more prone to storms and is more temperamental than ever. 

Yuuri's mother had said that it was like an angry lover, one that had no qualms about slapping the sandy face of the shore. 

It's an odd coincidence. Everything and nothing applies to both Hasetsu and Yuuri's friends. 

Otabek is more level-headed than he used to be, Yuuri muses. More level-headed, with better hair. Phichit's discovery of social media was the best and worst thing that happened to him, but it's strangely endearing.

Yuuri smiles faintly. 

Seung-gil and Chris… 

His smile dips downward.

Chris was two levels above him in the Arbitrator Academy, though his talent had quickly propelled him to the top. Yuuri had been a late bloomer, and he was forced to take a few classes below his level—classes that Phichit and Seung-gil were enrolled in. He was fine with that. Hard work would pay off… eventually.

But then the Junior Promotion Program came.

His old professor, Minako-sensei, had hounded him for _months_ after his impromptu search for the Clockmaster. Yuuri had left a note, but it had gotten lost in Minako-sensei's endless towers of paperwork. Needless to say, she wasn't happy. 

But the Organization was. 

The week after Yuuri had returned, he was officially summoned to HQ. He was given a choice. One, accept the Council's offer and train to be a top-tier Field Arbitrator; or two, refuse and become a paper-pusher for the rest of his life. 

Yuuri chose the former. 

He'd met Chris again when they were both naive rookies, starstruck at the slightest scrap of praise. There were other Arbitrators, ones with better connections and more money, but Chris had never cared about them. He didn't need to. 

Prodigies like him didn't have any real rivals. 

But Yuuri had never expected that he would join the Scythes Squadron. Chris never spoke about what happened, and the Squadron is notoriously tight-lipped, so Yuuri doesn't know the full story. All he knows is that Chris is different. Yuuri was promoted a year after Chris, but he's only seen Chris twice after the promotion. Three times, if you count the night of Yuuri's inauguration banquet. (Yuuri doesn't.)

Seung-gil is another enigma. He's secretive by nature, ruthless because of his conditioning. Yet… Yuuri doesn't remember Seung-gil's perpetual sullenness from their childhood. Though, to be fair, he doesn't remember much of Seung-gil at all—just bits and pieces. Most of his memories are concentrated in his rookie years.

Yuuri doesn't know—doesn't remember—who Seung-gil is, who he ought to be. He doesn't remember who Chris ought to be either. Yuuri doesn't even remember who _he_ ought to be. 

 

__________

 

Yuuri's alarm clock bursts to life, spewing out an old pop song he doesn't remember the lyrics to. He's already awake—has been so for hours—and doesn't even remember setting an alarm. In the two weeks that he's been in Hasetsu, Yuuri's been routinely woken by the sound of pots clanging against each other. 

With a sigh, Yuuri lifts himself off the bed and shuts off the alarm. His steps are light, and Yuuri exits his room quietly. The morning is silent, and the pots and pans are still sleeping. 

Am I the only one awake? Yuuri thinks. 

He's about to enter the living room when he hears hushed voices. The light isn't on, so whoever's speaking is doing so in near darkness. Shadowy rooms and poor lighting don't bother most Arbitrators, but Yuuri's vision has gotten worse over the years. No-one in his family has stellar eyesight either, and his parents have long since adapted to living like humans. Nowadays, the lights are on constantly—a practice that is reinforced by the presence of customers. 

It's odd, to say the least. Who could be whispering in the dark so early in the morning?

Yuuri slinks back into the hallway, pressing himself up against the wall. 

A voice that sounds like his mother says, "Do you think he's doing alright? Our baby boy seems so… off. Ever since he came back…"

The voice that replies is masculine, matching his father's usual tone. "Has he told you what's happened? I don't know much about the Organization anymore, but it all seems wrong."

"This is a retirement town, sweetie. Everything I know comes from Minako-senpai. And," Yuuri's mother pauses, the last part of her sentence coming out in a breathy whisper, "from what I hear, everything's been strange since the new Director." 

"The new Director?" Yuuri's father questions.

"Yes, dear. There's been a new Director for a few years now, ever since Baranovskaya retired. They say that the new Director is her illegitimate niece, but that's all rumors."

Yuuri's father makes a noise of surprise. "What’s her name again? The new Director, I mean."

"Anya, I believe," Yuuri's mother says. "I don't remember her last name."

"If she's Ex-Director Lilia's niece, wouldn't she have the Baranovskaya name?"

Yuuri's mother tuts softly. "Illegitimate, love. Baranovskaya never confirmed the rumors, and Minako-senpai tells me that Anya isn't too keen about confirming them either. Those newlyweds—the ones that came here for their honeymoon last month—told me that Anya's very sensitive when it comes to her family."

"So that's what you were always so hush-hush about," Yuuri's father says. "I remember those newlyweds. Those girls were such sweethearts."

"Isn't that right, Toshiya? We don't get many customers like that anymore."

Toshiya Katsuki hums in agreement. "But… did you learn anything that could tell us why Yuuri's been so strange? Running off to sit by the sea for hours at night, scrubbing floors that were cleaned minutes before, refusing to eat… what's wrong with our boy?"

There's an elephant on Yuuri's chest, rolling around and stomping on his ribcage. He can feel his cheeks growing hotter and hotter.

Yuuri's mother doesn't reply for a second or so, but when she does, it's with a muted, trembling voice. "Everything has changed. Yuuri must resent us for being terrible parents. What kind of parents can't even comfort their child?"

Yuuri's father doesn't speak up. The only sound is of rustling fabric and soft patting. 

"Let's go sit by the sea, Hiroko. The sunrise is beautiful."

His mother mumbles something that Yuuri doesn't hear, but his father responds contentedly. 

"Maybe one day," Toshiya says. "I'm sure he likes sunrises just as much as sunsets."

His parents linger for a moment but leave quickly. After he hears the door click, Yuuri sneaks into the living room. There's a stray feather duster lying on the coffee table; Yuuri grabs it and busies himself by dusting the little display tables. He dusts for a while, lost in thought. 

A nauseous air slithers over Yuuri, slinking up his chest and squeezing around his throat. His parents sounded… heartbroken. Memories of sitting by the beach resurface, and Yuuri remembers what he had thought of them. 

Yuuri feels sick. In the end, it's him who didn't understand. 

"You've been dusting that spot for a while, Yuuri," a languid voice drawls. 

Yuuri snaps his head up and gapes at the woman standing a few feet away from him. She's wearing loose, comfortable clothing. Dyed hair is held back by a purple headband. 

"What, surprised?" she asks. "I've only been gone for a few weeks." 

Her eyes narrow and she continues in a low voice, "Unlike you. You've been gone for years. How could you leave your sister like that?"

Yuuri drops the feather duster and leaps onto his feet, racing towards his sister until he's right in front of her. 

Glancing up at her, Yuuri says, "Welcome home, Mari."

She smiles and tries to hold in her giggles. It isn't too successful, and soon Mari is struggling to stand straight—she's laughing so hard she can barely see through her tears. 

Yuuri smiles too. She takes a while to calm down, and by the time Mari stopped laughing, Yuuri had already put away the feather duster and prepared a glass of water. He wordlessly offers the glass to her, and Mari smiles in gratitude. 

"So," she says, after gulping down the water. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"By the sea," Yuuri answers. "They're watching the sunrise."

Mari glances at the clock in the corner and frowns. 

"They've been up since dawn?" Glancing pointedly at Yuuri, Mari says, " _You've_ been up since dawn?"

Yuuri nods in confirmation. Mari raises her eyebrows in reply. 

"They usually don't wake up very early. That's odd."

Mari's eyes swivel across the room, taking in her surroundings. 

"That's odd," she repeats. "I didn't realize how dark it was in here until I looked again. Mom and Dad usually have the lights on. Even if they didn't realize that you were awake, they'd probably still have the lights on."

"They were busy," Yuuri says. "I don't think they cared too much about the lights right then."

He lets out a controlled sigh and gives Mari an unsteady smile before giving her a steadier, more forced grin.

Mari stares thoughtfully at Yuuri, her face impassive. She lifts a hand to tuck away a stray hair and says, "Judging by that awkward look on your face, something's wrong. If Mom and Dad are by the sea, then they're probably trying to keep their minds off of something too."

Mari cocks her head and says in her usual drawl, "What is it, Yuuri?"

Yuuri doesn't look her in the eyes. "They've been worried about me, that's all."

"Our parents don't know about the suspension, do they?"

Yuuri whips his head up and stares at Mari. "How did you know that?"

Mari smiles. "That's the second time you've done that in an hour. Careful or else your neck will snap. And as for that detail… well, I've been taking a little trip across Japan for a couple of weeks. You think I didn't learn anything? The Arbitrators in Osaka are very chatty."

"Osaka? I'm doomed!" Yuuri collapses onto the floor, huddled next to the table. "I'm such a joke, even Osakans are talking about it!"

Yuuri continues to mumble into the furniture about his lost reputation.

"They make fun of everyone," Mari says over Yuuri’s frantic mumbling. "I know how hard it must be for you. It's okay."

Yuuri is speechless.

"It's okay," Mari continues. "It's okay because you made a mistake, but at least you've taken responsibility for it. That's not what bothers me."

Mari steps closer towards Yuuri and plops down next to him. She rests her head on her palms and sits in a hunched manner, legs crossed. 

"Being a SCYS member meant everything to you. You wouldn't break the law for no reason. And I also met this kid from the Junior Division. Said he was on break or whatever, and when he heard that I was your sister he went crazy."

Mari sighs and leans back against a table adjacent to Yuuri's. 

"Hold on," Yuuri says. "Mom and Dad said that you were going on a short vacation. Where did you actually go? Why did you meet so many Arbitrators?"

"I went to get information on you. After that first phone call, you didn't call back, and Mom and Dad were sick with worry. Sometimes Mom wonders how much happier you would be if she had never told you about Vicchan's death."

Yuuri raises an arm to clutch at his chest. "I'm sorry."

Mari waves off his apology and says, "You weren't in the right frame of mind. I don't blame you. But to answer your question, I went to the Japanese Branch's Main Building in Tokyo. The kid that freaked out over me being your sister was actually pretty helpful. He's like your biggest fan, and he told me all about what you were up to." Mari pauses to look at Yuuri. "I'm glad you have good friends that can bail you out of jail."

Yuuri blushes. "It's not like that…"

"The case went well, right? A suspension isn't great, but I'm glad you aren't behind bars."

Yuuri pouts. “That's a blunt way of putting it. Oh, and what was the kid's name? The one that was my ‘biggest fan’?”

"Kenjirou Minami," Mari replies. Gesturing to the air in front of her, Mari holds out her hand in an approximation of Kenjirou's height. "He was about this tall—which isn't really very tall if you think about it—but he had a lot of energy. What a loud kid."

"Kenjirou Minami," Yuuri repeats, drawing out the syllables in Kenjirou's name. "He's a fan? Of me? And he's _still_ a fan?"

"Yup," Mari says. "That kid idolizes you. I asked him why his hero was you, and not the Director or another SCYS member, and he said that it was because you shined. Whatever that meant."

Something flutters inside of Yuuri's soul, soaring in his heart. But that feeling stops when he processes the entirety of Mari's words. 

"The… Director," Yuuri mumbles. "Mom and Dad were talking about her this morning. They didn't seem to like her too much."

Mari nods her head, loose blonde strands escaping her tight headband.

"The Japanese Branch doesn't like the current Director much at all, though to be fair, she started it." 

Mari's tone is clipped and controlled, as if she's walking on a minefield.

"You were away when this happened, but when Lilia Baranovskaya retired she named a few possible candidates. She'd been rivals with Minako-sensei for a good portion of her life, but she trusted Minako-sensei and held her to the highest degree. There were also rumors going around that Anya, then a member of the Council, was Baranovskaya's illegitimate niece. A bunch of people said that Baranovskaya gave Anya the nomination in order to keep her quiet, but no-one really knows."

Mari lets out a loud sigh and slouches lower against the table. Yuuri looks at her curiously.

"Is that all?"

Mari shakes her head. "Anya won the spot. From what I hear, she lobbied the Council for months. She didn't care much for Japan since it was certain that we'd support Minako-sensei, so there wasn't much campaigning here. She was the Council's favorite, and they believed that she would hold their best interests at heart if she was elected. The son of a wealthy family was sweet on her too, and his father pushed relentlessly for Anya's victory."

Yuuri is dumbfounded. _This is why the Clockmaster warned me not to stick my nose too deeply into politics,_ he thinks.

"When Anya became Director, she made it clear that those who didn't support her during the nomination period were enemies," Mari continues. "She hasn't been too kind to the Japanese Branch. In the years that you were gone, Anya hasn't allowed any Japanese Arbitrators to join the ranks of the Field Arbitrators. The only reason why she hasn't slashed our funding to ribbons is because she needs our technology research."

"Mari, you're astonishingly familiar with all of this," Yuuri says. "I doubt you learned all this from a few weeks in Tokyo. If you know so much, why didn't you want to become a full-fledged Arbitrator?"

Mari gives Yuuri a wan smile. "The Arbitrators that stayed here were often young and chatty when drunk. No-one would suspect a low-grade Arbitrator like me to understand all these things, so they talked freely. A lot of the retired couples in the area like to gossip, and they _love_ gossiping with a young face. Old classmates in Tokyo and old ladies in Hasetsu are a formidable source of information. Don't doubt that. And I like living like this. There's not a whole lot of customers around anymore, but humans are slowly moving into this area. Since this is a retirement town, most of the Cube-Prototypes here are being deactivated. Soon we'll have more business, and I don't want to work within the Organization."

The only thing Yuuri can say is, "I'm sorry."

Mari chuckles, her wan smile gone. "I'd rather you don't feel sorry about my personal goals. And you have quite a few things to catch up on, considering that you were away for so long. Do you even know anything about modern technology?"

"I've only been gone for a few years! And the yearly reports sent to all SCYS members told me plenty about Universe One. All the information I needed was packaged nicely into a simple paper, and I'm just as informed as you are."

Mari nods, but then suddenly stands up. 

"Mari?" Yuuri calls out. He's about to follow her, but Mari shouts back and tells him that she'll return in a moment and that she just remembered something. 

When she reenters, Mari is clutching a small, rectangular package in her hands. The labeling is simple, with only Yuuri's name and his address typed in a uniform font. There's no return address. 

"I checked the mail when I came back, to see if anyone sent me anything while I was gone. I found this instead," Mari says.

Yuuri stares at the box and gingerly lifts it from Mari's hands. "Is this mine?"

Mari shrugs. "It's addressed to you. Do you think it's from one of your friends?"

"No," Yuuri says. "We said that we would all stay out of touch for awhile, in order not to raise any suspicion. There won't be a lot of contact between us until my suspension is over."

"When's that?" Mari asks. 

"Three months," Yuuri replies. "Three long months."

"At least you're not in jail," Mari says. "Open the box. I want to see what's inside."

Mari reaches in her pockets and fishes out a key ring to hand to Yuuri. Taking the ring from Mari, Yuuri selects the key with the sharpest edge and slashes across the box. Inside is thin, square-shaped box and a pocket watch. The pocket watch is scratched, but barely so. Even in the dimness of the room, its golden edge seems to glow. 

Yuuri gasps. "What is this?" 

Mari peeks inside, takes out the two items, and sets them on the floor. 

"It's my Timepiece," Yuuri breathes. "But how? Someone from HQ must have sent it here… but who would? I'm not supposed to have it."

Next to him, Mari picks up the thin box and peels off the plastic. When she takes its top off, the box's contents are exposed to the world. 

It's chocolates. 

"Someone out there must like you," Mari says. "Your Timepiece _and_ chocolate?"

"I suppose," Yuuri says, but there's still a storm of doubt thundering in his mind. 

Who would do this?

"There's no return address," Mari says. "So just keep it. The pocket watch is yours anyways."

Yuuri hums, and picks up the pocket watch, cradling it in his hands. It seems so delicate now—so unlike the tough, enduring metal he'd held back in Twenty-two and Sixteen. 

When he flips the cover, Yuuri can see the second hand ticking as it normally would. 

"It's working," he says.

"I can see that," Mari replies. "It's awfully shiny, though. I didn't know Timepieces were so… bright."

"They're usually not," Yuuri says. "It depends on the person. The Organization—when they award you a Timepiece—they usually let you personalize it according to your preferences. I have a friend whose Timepiece is an hourglass."

Mari raises her eyebrows in amusement. "Powerful Arbitrators are so weird. But hey, at least you're not in jail."

Yuuri blushes and waves his arms around frantically. "Stop mentioning that! Really…"

Mari shrugs. "There's worse things to be."

She looks at Yuuri again before saying, "It's still pretty early. You should take a dip in the hot springs before Mom and Dad come back. You look like you could use it."

 

__________

 

Yuuri does end up soaking in the hot springs for a short while. The day is spent cleaning around Yu-topia and sitting near the family _butsudan,_ the altar table. 

In the evenings, Yuuri can be seen lounging on the beaches, staring at the sea. His parents are worried, and even Mari looks a bit concerned, but Yuuri just can't break the habit. There's something that pulls him to the sea—to water. 

The days spent by the sea are peaceful, and the storm in Yuuri's mind is deafened by the thundering tides. He had watched large, frothy crests seduce the land, only to slam against it and retreat into the deep. 

_What a mixed message,_ Yuuri had thought. _Though the sea is certainly more forthright than others._

On a particularly windy evening, Yuuri tries to throw his Timepiece into the ocean. He wasn't really going to do it—merely toyed with the idea. But a slip of the hand flung the watch into the air. It spun and spun, its golden chain thrashing against the sky until the watch plunged into the sea, sinking under the waves. 

Yuuri had dived into the water hysterically, clawing up sand and rocks to search for the pocket watch. The chilly water soaks into his bones before he finally finds it. 

He returns home at night, wet and shaken. His parents don't say much; they usher him to a table full of steaming _katsudon_ bowls and plop a towel on his head. 

Yuuri only has enough energy to smile at them.

 

__________

 

Yuuri's evening ritual is broken on the third day of the third week since he's been in Hasetsu. 

The king of the castle town by the sea seems to be in a foul mood; winds charge at his command, darting around town, flaying everything in their path. His bellows echo across the sky, exciting rogue waves, whipping them up into a frenzy. It's not long before arrows of rain begin to fall to the ground. 

In his room, Yuuri can hear the wild splashing from outside.

"It's summer," he mumbles. "I expected this. The sunny days were enjoyable while they lasted. I guess I can't really sit on the beach today, though."

Yuuri lies in bed for a while, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. As expected, there are no new messages from Phichit, Otabek, or Seung-gil. There haven’t been any for weeks, so Yuuri doesn't know why he bothers checking every day. 

At some point, Yuuri falls asleep but wakes to the sound of thunder. The storm is even wilder now; rain and wind make a formidable pair, working mercilessly to punish Hasetsu. 

Through the noise of the storm, Yuuri hears an odd sound—an out of place tapping. It's methodical, yet urgent-sounding, solid and sure in the way that rain isn't. The tapping becomes more persistent, a sharp rap against something solid—like a door. 

Yuuri's ready to ignore it. It's late, after all, and why would anyone come knocking during a storm? His parents and Mari are either in their rooms or in the living room, so it's probably just his imagination. Probably.

The tapping continues, an anxious drumming to the rain's war song. Outside his room, Yuuri hears the sound of padded footsteps slowly making their way to the door. 

"Crap," Yuuri mumbles. "Not just my imagination."

Shoving his feet into a pair of fluffy slippers, Yuuri hurriedly leaps out of bed and races out the door, all the way to the entrance. He's greeted by the sight of his mom getting ready to open the front door. 

"You heard it too, sweetie?" she asks. "I wonder who it is?"

She reaches toward the double doors, ready to open them, when Yuuri reaches out to stop her. 

"Wait!"

Looking back at her son, Hiroko stops in her tracks, arms lowered. "Is there something wrong? Am I just imagining the noise?"

"No," Yuuri says, looking anxiously at his mom. "I heard it too. But… isn't it a little strange? People who knock on your door at night or in strange weather usually aren't the best."

Hiroko shakes her head and says, "It'll be okay, Yuuri. There's nothing to fear in a place like Hasetsu."

 _That's not what I'm worried about,_ Yuuri thinks. Rain. Nighttime. Evening. Knocking. This has all happened before, and none of those events turned out too well.

"Here we go," Hiroko says, and with a small grunt, heaves the doors open.

On the other side are two men, with both of them shorter than Yuuri. They're soaked, coats plastered onto their bodies. They're looking down, but whip their heads up once Yuuri's mom widens the gap in between the two doors. 

A pair of intense brown eyes stare up at him, framed by slicked hair. Another pair of eyes—dim and weary, underneath thick, expressive eyebrows—look up at Yuuri too, lighting reflecting in their depths. 

"What? Otabek? Seung-gil? How?" Yuuri stammers. 

Seung-gil clenches his jaw, his body silent and still. 

Otabek opens his mouth to speak, only to close it. He tries again, and then, in a grim voice, he says, "We have a situation."

 

__________

 

Chopsticks and spoons clink against the bowls. Yuuri's mother had insisted on feeding their guests and then retiring to her room, in order to give Yuuri some privacy. 

Otabek and Seung-gil sit in silence. Their heavy coats are lying a few tables away, dripping water onto the floor. 

The food is still steaming, and Yuuri takes a few hesitant bites before anyone manages to say anything. 

Again, Otabek is the one who speaks up first. 

"There's an emergency," he says, neatly placing his spoon down on a napkin. "The timing is… rough, but we had to come immediately."

Worry is forcing its way up Yuuri's throat, ready to burst.

"It's not for the reasons you believe," Otabek reassures Yuuri. "This issue is related to the trial, but your sentence is safe. Unfortunately, this issue was unexpected, dire, and of a different nature."

Yuuri squeezes his chopsticks, sweat tinged with worry. "Then what's going on?"

He turns his head from Otabek to look at Seung-gil, then back again. "What's happening?"

"My grandfather is dead."

A pair of chopsticks falls to the ground, bouncing on the hardwood floor.

Otabek whips his head to the side, towards Seung-gil. "Seung-gil, if you're not able to explain—"

"No," Seung-gil responds while setting down his own pair of chopsticks. "This is my family, so I will tell Yuuri."

"Seung-gil," Yuuri says softly. "I—"

"I don't want pity, Yuuri," Seung-gil says. "I want—"

Seung-gil stops and clenches his jaw, a tear searing his cheek.

"I want justice."

"I… what?" Yuuri asks. What happened?

Otabek shakes his head in a silent message. Don't. 

"My grandfather is dead," Seung-gil spits. "He was found dead in his manor. They said it was a heart attack. It was murder."

Otabek gives Seung-gil a quick look, to which Seung-gil responds with a nod.

"What Seung-gil is saying is that: is it a coincidence?" Otabek asks. "A week or so after he lets you go—he's then found dead in his home. It is unsettlingly convenient." 

"That witch Anya is putting off an official investigation. She's waiting, biding her time so that her pick for High Judge will be elected. Then she'll have them dismiss the case." Seung-gil narrows his eyes, a fierce scowl settling on his lips. "Grandfather should have disposed of her when he had the chance."

Seung-gil is emanating fury, a far cry from his usual stoic attitude; rage, bitterness, and loss are all engraved onto his face. It's some of the most genuine and powerful displays of emotion Yuuri's ever seen from him. 

"You must be wondering why we are here," Otabek says, interrupting Yuuri's train of thought. "And why we are telling you this."

"Yes," Yuuri affirms. "What do you need me to do?"

"Come back to New York with us," Otabek proposes. "Thanks to Seung-gil, the paperwork hasn't gone through yet. You are technically still an active Arbitrator and therefore allowed to enter the Organization's special facilities."

Seung-gil nods and says, "My Grandfather left me with a few objects. There is a black box with no lock, no lid—no way to open it. Between your experience and Phichit's, the two of you should be able to identify what the object is. Come back to New York."

For a split second, Yuuri considers saying no. He's not ready to handle this, to handle anything right now. But looking at the pain in Seung-gil's eyes and the exhaustion in Otabek's… 

"Okay."

 

__________

 

Otabek and Seung-gil end up staying for two nights—just long enough to prepare for the flight to New York. Yuuri’s parents don't ask questions, and neither does Mari. They just smile and wish him well, like they've always done. 

In the days leading up to his departure, Yuuri's parents had looked more relaxed, the tension melting right off their faces. When he'd told them that he was leaving again, Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki had lit up like the summer fireworks.

His mother had said, "I'm happy for you, dear. I'm glad you have something to do with your time."

He'd denied it furiously with, "Being here was a great way to spend my time—really! I missed you a lot, mom."

Hiroko had shaken her head and told him to follow his heart. 

"It's one thing to lie to us, but don't lie to yourself, dear. Just know that your father and I love you. Our only regret is not being there when you needed us."

Yuuri hadn't understood her point—he was leaving to investigate the murder of Seung-gil's grandfather, not to go on a magical, soul-searching vacation in the Bahamas—but he hugged his parents and told them that he loved them anyways. 

Mari, like their parents, had confronted Yuuri in private—just once, though—and had told him that she'd support him, in her own little way.

"Don't get sent to jail," she'd said. "But if you do, call me. I'll have my friends bust you out."

Yuuri had blushed, smiled, and thanked her. It's surreal to him, how quickly things are moving, changing. 

It's still surreal, even when he's about to board Otabek's private jet back to New York.

Yuuri's busy staring at the plane's streamlined body when Seung-gil walks past the door.

" _Hurry,_ " Seung-gil calls out. "Why haven't you gotten on yet?"

"I'm coming," Yuuri responds, tugging his carry-on up the stairs. 

Once Yuuri's inside the plane, the stairs behind him retract, the door closing. He's in a small room—similar to a sitting room—with yellow armchairs and minimalist decorations. Although the walls are mostly white, the right wall is black. An intricate golden dragon curled around the sun is painted on the right wall, its body stretching across the dark background. In front of Yuuri are two large doors; black and handleless, they stand composedly, waiting for him to step forward. 

Hesitantly, Yuuri walks toward the two doors. They open.

The room beyond the doors seems more like a modern penthouse than the interior of a plane. There are seats that vaguely resemble that of a regular plane's, but they're a soft gray with much, much more leg room. The walls are similar to that of the first room's: white, but with occasional black walls adorned with golden tulips. 

Yuuri can see beyond the second room, further into the plane. The space ahead is cozier, with what looks like a bar and some light blue couches. Otabek and Seung-gil are sitting on the bar stools, surrounded by large stacks of paper. 

"Hey," Yuuri says, jogging toward their direction. "Shouldn't we be in the seats? Isn't the plane going to take off soon?"

"We should," Otabek says. "And we will."

Otabek steps off the stool and makes his way toward the gray chairs. Seung-gil and Yuuri follow suit. 

"Pick whatever chair you'd like," Otabek says. "Though if you wish to talk, chairs that are close together would probably be wise."

Yuuri looks around and decides to plop himself down on the nearest seat. Otabek and Seung-gil, without much consideration, sit themselves down on either side of Yuuri. 

It takes a while for the pilot to complete his announcements and get the plane airborne, but it's still much quicker than a normal, commercial flight. 

Once the plane is steadily climbing the sky, Yuuri unbuckles his seatbelt and asks, "Why do you have a bar? You're not old enough to drink." 

"The bar is for my parents, or if I have to entertain anyone older than me," Otabek replies. Looking over to Seung-gil, he adds, "I have a special cabinet for Seung-gil's wine and soju."

Seung-gil's response is automatic: "I appreciate the finer things in life. Such a shame that you're always left nursing a cup of orange juice."

Otabek graces Seung-gil with an unimpressed stare.

"So," Yuuri says, easing the tension around him. "What about those papers? And all the decor and food? Wouldn't it fall during take-off?"

"No," Otabek says. 

"Oh. Uh—"

"The countertop is magnetic, and the paper was specifically created for the purpose of being able to cling to that table," Seung-gil says, his voice faint as he reclines against his seat. "All the food is stored in secure containers, and the alcohol is locked in a specially-designed cabinet, like Otabek said," 

"That's… amazing," Yuuri says, looking at Otabek. 

Otabek's legs are crossed, and a book has somehow materialized in his hands. 

"This is the manual," Otabek says, passing the book to Yuuri. "If you have more questions, please ask me or the captain." 

"Thank you," Yuuri replies, although it sounds more like a question than anything. 

Otabek nods and says, "Well then, enjoy the flight. New York is fifteen hours away."

"Fifteen hours too late," Seung-gil says, eye closed. 

"I agree," Otabek replies, rising from his seat. "I will be in the study, past the bar. If you have any concerns, please come see me."

With that, Otabek weaves past the chairs and walks away. 

Most of the flight is spent in an anxious silence, with Yuuri dozing off every couple of hours. He doesn't venture out of the room he's in, hesitant to leave the cushy paradise of his chair. On the other hand, after a short nap, Seung-gil wakes up and immediately heads toward the tower of papers in the bar room. He sorts through them restlessly, organizing and reorganizing with forced calm. Yuuri wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for Seung-gil's shaking hands. 

Otabek, for the most part, sits in a small room with a circular table and bookshelves lining the walls. Several thick textbooks are stacked neatly on the table; Otabek flips through all of them. 

Mealtimes are short and tense, with each member rushing to finish and resume their individual activities. Seung-gil doesn't eat much at all, instead choosing to down a few shots of soju.

When Yuuri's not asleep, he's up watching Criminal Minds, one of Phichit's favorite TV series. He's halfway through season eleven when the plane begins to shake.

"Turbulence," Otabek calls out, walking back toward his plane seat. Seung-gil emerges from the bar room a short time after, also taking a seat.

"Is it serious?" Yuuri asks, buckling his seatbelt. 

"Not especially," Otabek says, right as the plane's intercom bursts to life.

"This is your captain speaking. We are experiencing some turbulence. Please fasten your seatbelts and remain calm. We will be landing in a few hours."

Shortly after the announcement, the plane hits a particularly rough patch of sky. It shudders and jumps, bullied by the violent clouds.

"Will this slow us down?" Seung-gil asks, looking pointedly at Otabek.

"I am an Arbitrator, Seung-gil," Otabek replies. "You should know that. I, nor anyone else here, can control the weather. Please be patient."

Seung-gil sinks further into his chair but says nothing. 

"Knowing my pilot, our arrival time is actually much sooner," Otabek continues. "He likes to overestimate. Use this time to rest."

"... fine," Seung-gil says. 

Yuuri is already fast asleep.

 

___________

 

"This is… different," Yuuri says, looking up at the high rise building in front of him. It's all glass and engineering, towering above the rest of its neighbors. "This isn't your apartment complex. Where are we?" 

"This is Phichit's private residence, for when he needs to do extensive research. This building has one of the fastest internet download speeds in New York," Otabek replies. "There is also a computer here with a special access code, one that can enter restricted parts of the Arbitrator Database."

"Phichit has been attempting to solve the mystery of the black box," Seung-gil says. "We've kept him waiting long enough. Let's go."

Yuuri blinks, walking quickly to catch up with Seung-gil. "That's the nicest thing I've ever heard him say about Phichit."

Otabek chuckles and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

"He's anxious," Otabek concludes, looking at Yuuri. "He is not used to things going awry and is used to getting his way. Now that the situation has turned dire, he's struggling not to place blame on others. His allies are more important now than ever."

"I know," Yuuri says. "It's just, everything is happening so fast—"

Otabek shakes his head. "Time does not stop in Universe One. Not even for Arbitrators. We must continually adapt."

"Right."

Ahead of them, Seung-gil marches up to the front door and is ushered inside by a doorman. 

"Mr. Lee," the doorman says, dipping his head. "A pleasure to see you."

Seung-gil nods and replies, "Thank you, Mr. Patel. A pleasure to see you as well."

The same formalities are exchanged when Otabek and Yuuri reach the entrance. 

"Is this gentleman with you, Mr. Altin?" the doorman asks Otabek.

"Yes, this is Yuuri Katsuki, a colleague of mine."

The doorman turns toward Yuuri and greets him with a kind smile. "I see. I hope your experience here is a pleasant one, Mr. Katsuki."

"Thank you," Yuuri says, bowing slightly. 

After a polite exchange, they leave the doorman and venture further inside the lobby, where Seung-gil is waiting next to an elevator. He's running his thumb over the smooth surface of his wristwatch, foot tapping impatiently against the floor.

"Phichit's in his room," Seung-gil says. "Looking at the box. Floor Seventeen."

"That's specific; how do you know?" Yuuri inquires, just as the elevator dings and opens.

Once they've all shuffled into the small space, Seung-gil presses the button for Floor Seventeen. He runs his fingers over his watch again and looks at Yuuri.

"My Timepiece," Seung-gil says, "tracks electrical signatures. I see everything."

They stand in silence for a few minutes after that, until the elevator reopens on the seventeenth floor. The hallway they walk into is wide and airy, decorated with oil paintings and ceramic vases. Multiple chandeliers hang overhead, each one embellished with dangling crystals.

"This is rather antique-looking for such a modern building," Yuuri comments, looking around the hall. "Is that an Imari vase? What an odd choice for a luxury apartment complex in New York."

"Half of this floor belongs to Phichit," Otabek says. "Most of the things here are antiques that he's collected. He bought that vase years ago when he was in Japan to visit you."

"I didn't know he went to Arita to buy pottery," Yuuri mumbles, running his fingers over the vase. "I would've saved him the trip. There's plenty of Kakiemon pottery lying around Yu-topia."

"Phichit was hellbent on buying an Imari vase," Otabek replies. "It was mentioned in a special episode on the History Channel, so I doubt he would have accepted Kakiemon pottery—gift or not."

Yuuri hums and continues to examine the vase. "I prefer Kakiemon pottery—the large areas of white are nicer, in my opinion—but Imari pottery is beautiful as well."

" _I_ would prefer that we hurry to Phichit's apartment," Seung-gil interrupts. "We've spent far too much time lingering in this hallway."

"The box won't run away, Seung-gil. You can afford to relax a bit."

"I would rather not, Otabek."

Seung-gil steps forward, takes a sharp left, and disappears around a corner. 

"Is that the way to Phichit's apartment?" Yuuri asks. 

"Yes," Otabek answers. "There is a quicker way, but there's no harm in lingering around the hallways."

Yuuri and Otabek follow Seung-gil around the corner, into another long hallway. Halfway down the hall is a lone door, two potted plants flanking its sides. 

Seung-gil is about to knock when the door flings open. 

"What—" he exclaims, jumping back. 

On the other side of the door is Phichit, in a pair of hamster shaped slippers and a loosely tied bathrobe. 

"Come in," he says, gesturing past the door. "Make yourselves at home."

The inside of Phichit's apartment is decorated like the hallway; the only difference is in the color scheme, cool greens and vibrant yellows. A small eating area and kitchen are to the right, next to a wide, arching window. To the left is the living room, where couches overflowing with silk pillows are arranged around a flat screen TV. 

Long vases and thread paintings are displayed around the room, though they're mostly covered up by large sheets of paper and towers of empty cups. 

"Sorry for the mess," Phichit says, running around in an attempt to clean up. "I got a little caught up. Please sit down; I'll make some tea."

"It's alright," Yuuri says. "You don't have to."

"Basic law of hospitality," Phichit replies, digging around his kitchen for a kettle. "Is black tea okay?"

Yuuri and Seung-gil nod their consent.

Otabek answers yes for them.

"Great," Phichit says. 

While Phichit is placing the kettle on the stove, Otabek walks into the kitchen and begins to help prepare the tea. 

As soon as the first teacup is set on the table, Seung-gil takes a seat and asks, "What have you discovered about the box?"

Phichit sets down two more teacups and answers, "Too much and not much at all. I'll tell you when everyone has their tea."

When they're all seated and drinking their tea, Phichit reaches down under his chair and places an object on the table. It's shaped like a cube—six flat faces, but no opening. 

"I dug around the database and my own personal archive for days," Phichit said. "I didn't find anything I considered to be valuable information, and the more I looked, the less I found."

"And?" Seung-gil inquires. "Is that it?"

"I'm getting to that," Phichit says. "I know politicians are bad at waiting, but hold on. Anyways, I didn't find anything for a while, and I almost gave up."

"You probably did find something," Yuuri says. "If so, why am I here?"

"The four of us have been a unit since our Arbitrator Academy and rookie days," Phichit says. 

"I agree," Otabek says. "This is not a small mishap. It was only fair that we all understood the situation."

Seung-gil fixes his eyes on Yuuri and allows himself a slight smile. "Otabek and Phichit are correct."

"Of course I am," Phichit beams. "Back to what I was saying. I almost gave up, but then I managed to find a description of an item that matches the box. Unfortunately, it only mentioned what the box is called, and nothing else. I tried to access the page through the special database computer, in order to find more information on it, but I couldn't. I didn't have the right access code."

"What was it called?" Seung-gil asks.

"It was so cheesy—the name, I mean. We're Arbitrators, yet we decided to name that box after a Greek myth. That's so overdone," Phichit says. "A Pandora's Box is what it's called. Which is completely ridiculous. In the original Greek myth, it was a pithos—a jar with a lid—not a box."

"... Pandora's Box?" Yuuri mumbles, looking down at the table. "A Greek myth… a human myth…"

"What is it?" Seung-gil asks. 

"I..." Yuuri says. "A Greek myth—wait!"

Yuuri slowly raises his head. "I think I know what it is."

"You do?" Seung-gil demands.

"I heard about something like it once—vaguely, from another SCYS member. They joked around about having a box that humans would kill for. Something about what would happen if someone were to open another Pandora's Box. I was curious and asked where the name came from, and they told me it was a silly human myth."

"The Squadron," Otabek muses. "Are they the ones that set up that access code?"

"I don't know," Yuuri answers. "All I remember is that a Pandora's Box is used to hold secrets. Secrets that are so grave that they're only revealed…"

"After you're in the grave?" Otabek suggests. 

"Well, I would assume so," Yuuri says. "But I don't know how to open it."

"So we're stuck," Phichit summarizes. "We can't open the lid or anything, and I'm pretty sure it's made of some extremely durable lab-created material, so it's not like we could break it."

"A lid," Seung-gil says suddenly, looking at Otabek. “A jar with a lid.”

Phichit raises an eyebrow. "What about it?" 

"There’s a device, which for some godforsaken reason, was given the nickname, Lidbreaker. It was briefly mentioned during the last assignment the Organization gave to me. It decodes puzzles and the like. Is the box a puzzle of some sort?"

"The name ‘Lidbreaker’ was given to it as a joke. The creator of the device thought it was a dud. He used it pry off lids that had gotten stuck to boxes—since it looked rather pin-like—but always ended up breaking the lids. It was a running gag around the Technology Department for months, once they realized it actually did work," Otabek supplies. "But I agree; is the box a puzzle?"

"It's black," Phichit says, realization blooming on his face. "The puzzle could be hidden on the surface. Like some kind of Indiana Jones movie! Maybe we won’t be able to see it until the Lidbreaker decodes it."

Seung-gil’s lips are pursed into a tight line. “Perhaps.”

"Let's say that the Lidbreaker is they key to opening the box," Yuuri proposes. "Who has it? Where would we find it?"

"The person who has it isn't far," Seung-gil says. "But where it's stored is another story."

"Who has it then?" Phichit asks. "And where is it?"

Otabek raises his cup, takes a sip of his now-cold tea, and places it back down. 

Looking squarely at Phichit, he says, "The person who has it would be me."

"Where do you keep it, then?" Yuuri questions. "New York?"

"No," Otabek answers. "St. Petersburg, Russia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And also: [Absolutely stunning fanart for Chapter 3](https://maclaeroni.tumblr.com/post/157985712817/fan-art-for-chapter-3-of-lampadaires-sous-la) by [maclaeroni](https://maclaeroni.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! It's truly amazing and I'm eternally grateful for such talent. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Unfortunately, AP Exam season in the United States is fast approaching, so the next update might be some time away. Don't worry though, I have no intentions of abandoning this fic! (I... might be convinced to start writing more if you leave your thoughts down below!) Don't be afraid to review, even if it's been a while since the last update. I'm always here to answer and read what you have to say :)
> 
> 20170602 (or 6/2/17 for you Americans) Note: After nearly two months, I'm happy to say that I'm back! Chapter 5 is complete and is awaiting editing, so get ready! Also some editing on this chapter for word choice and sentence structure, but nothing important to the plot has been added/changed.


	5. Le Petit Empereur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time slips away from our fingertips, but it's hard to tell when the midnight sun never ends. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta, [renaissance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/pseuds/renaissance)!

A thick mat of dust is the first thing that welcomes Yuuri. Next to the dusty shelves, cardboard boxes stacked up to the sky stretch as far as the eye can see. The warehouse around him seems never-ending. 

"Otabek?" Yuuri calls, his voice resonating throughout the still space. "Are we in the right place? Otabek?"

"Hold on," Otabek replies, after a few seconds of silence. "This is the correct place. The Lidbreaker is here; I know it."

Yuuri follows Otabek's voice into a narrow aisle with shelves full of discarded pieces of metal. Some have gaping holes in them. Others are charred beyond recognition.

Turning around a corner, Yuuri sees Otabek and Seung-gil shuffling through a heap of papers, all unceremoniously dumped on the cement floor. Seung-gil is grabbing papers furiously, tossing and shoving them with such force that some begin to rip at the corners. 

"Damn," he says, slapping the papers back down. "I can't find its location in any of these reports."

"Stay calm," Otabek says, carefully digging through another box. "We are close. Very close."

Seung-gil grits his teeth, and picks up another paper. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Otabek flicks his eyes toward Seung-gil before resuming his search. "This is my warehouse. I am very well aware of what I am doing."

"Is this it?"

Otabek and Seung-gil both whip their heads around. In Yuuri's hand is a long, silvery object with a tapered end. 

Lifting it up to the light, Yuuri says, "My vision really has deteriorated. But it looks somewhat pin-like, don't you think?"

"Where did you find that?" Seung-gil demands. 

"This?"

Yuuri points to a small box half-hidden behind stacks of old magazines, all sitting on a low shelf. 

"It looked odd," Yuuri says, fiddling with the Lidbreaker. "A box hidden behind all these magazines and news articles? The publication dates for those were old too, and the box stuck out at a weird angle. As if someone wanted you to be able to find it, but only if you were looking specifically for it."

Seung-gil's eyes widen, though just a fraction. Walking towards Yuuri, he motions for the Lidbreaker. 

"Then this is it," he says. 

Seung-gil looks back at Otabek and adds, "Send it to Phichit. Let's solve this damn mystery. Now."

Otabek nods. Turning to Yuuri he says, "Thank you for finding it. There are other items I need, so please be patient. I will return shortly."

Seung-gil doesn't object, but he doesn't look too pleased either. Yuuri hopes that Otabek will make it quick; Seung-gil can be rather… unpleasant when things don't go his way. 

With a few quick, delicate steps, Otabek turns a corner and disappears from view. 

Yuuri passes the Lidbreaker to Seung-gil, who then lifts it up close towards the light. 

"How bad is your vision?" Seung-gil asks.

"Bad," Yuuri replies. "I can see about as much as a normal human when I'm without my glasses."

Seung-gil's brows furrow as he starts to twirl the Lidbreaker around his fingers. "Has your night vision been affected too?"

Yuuri sighs and nods, scratching the back of his head absentmindedly. "Sadly, yes. I used to have great eyesight back when we were rookies, but it's all gone now."

"Don't think that I'll coddle you," Seung-gil says. "You are a part of my team, but don't think that you can use that as an excuse."

Yuuri reflexively adjusts his glasses and stares at Seung-gil.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I don't have time to play around," Seung-gil states. "My grandfather was a lot of things—not all of them pleasant—but he was not a fool. He would have known, or at the very least suspected, that someone would come to assassinate him. He left me the Pandora's Box for a reason, and he knew that I would be able to access the Lidbreaker. He kept tabs on everything; he would have known. That means that he wants me to find something." Seung-gil hardens his gaze. "Assist me."

"In doing what?"

"In fulfilling my grandfather's last wishes, and in eliminating whoever killed him. Do you stand with me or against me?"

Yuuri's response is immediate. "I stand with you."

Seung-gil manages a slight smile, although it's more smirk-like than anything. "Good. Otabek will be back soon; prepare yourself."

After a minute or so of pensive silence, Otabek returns. No-one hears him arrive—Otabek is notorious for being a quiet walker, so it's a bit of a shock to Yuuri when he turns around, only to find Otabek lingering near a shadowy shelf. 

"What did you need?" Seung-gil asks.

Stepping into the light, Otabek lifts up his arm. In his palm are two thin bands and a circular object. 

Otabek tosses one of the bands at Yuuri, and the other at Seung-gil. 

"Put them on," Otabek instructs. "They're communication devices that I helped develop, but there was no use for them until now. The Organization cannot track them, but use them sparingly."

Seung-gil examines the band and then tucks it into his pants pocket. "And the other object?"

"It picks locks."

Seung-gil doesn't look surprised. "When are we going back to New York? Is your plane ready?"

"My private jet is being repaired," Otabek says. "We've been flying often, and in bad weather."

"A commercial flight is uncomfortable but acceptable," Seung-gil says. "It's not a private plane, but it will do."

Otabek shakes his head. "Flights to New York have been canceled due to poor weather. Until the weather lifts, we are staying in St. Petersburg."

"Then how are we going to get the Lidbreaker to Phichit?" Yuuri asks. 

"We don't," Otabek says. "Not now."

Seung-gil's intense stare turns positively poisonous.

"We are to… stay here? It might take days—weeks even—for the weather to calm."

"Yes," Otabek says. "But that is the reality. We have no choice, Seung-gil."

Seung-gil stiffens.

"I doubt it will take more than a week for the weather to clear," Otabek says, his tone softening. "This is only a minor setback."

"Fine," Seung-gil spits, annoyance evidently wrapping itself around his body. "We're staying at your apartment then?"

Otabek nods. 

"It'll be alright, Seung-gil. It's only a week," Yuuri reassures.

Seung-gil shoots Yuuri a freezing glare. "A week is—"

"Unpleasant but not unbearable," Otabek interrupts, before Seung-gil can explode. "And there is something I must address. It's early summer, and we all know what that entails. Be careful, and don't linger in one place for too long."

Yuuri glances at Otabek, puzzled. "Is there something to be wary of here?"

"Anya," Seung-gil says. "She takes a trip to St. Petersburg every June. The Bureau of Justice comes with her, and that wretched witch doesn't leave until it's nearly July."

Yuuri gasps. "What? You brought me to St. Petersburg at the same time that Director and the Bureau of Justice happen to be there?"

"There isn't anything to worry about. You don't have a bounty on your head. Just… be careful. Pay attention to where you go and to your surroundings," Otabek warns.

It isn't that Yuuri doesn't trust Otabek—he does, really—but he can't help but feel anxious. There's something uniquely unnerving about being in the same city as the woman who literally and figuratively could end your life. 

"Did you call for a car?" Seung-gil asks. "When does it arrive?"

Otabek's phone emits a sharp _ding!_

Grabbing his luggage from behind a bookshelf, Otabek says, "Now."

 

__________

 

  
Otabek's apartment is hidden in the sleepy suburbs of St. Petersburg. The neighboorhood is quiet, small, and immaculate. 

Yuuri chuckles to himself. No one would expect to find three of the most powerful Time Arbitrators in the world here. 

Not three, two. He might have been a top-tier Arbitrator once, but not anymore. Not after what had happened only weeks ago. 

The door unlocks with a soft click. 

Yuuri blinks. Surprise erupts in front of his eyes.

At first glance, the apartment is plainly furnished and sparely decorated. It's nothing like Phichit's admittedly elaborate yet cozy private residence. Then Yuuri takes a closer look. Clocks and picture frames are everywhere; they sit on shelves and hang from walls. Yuuri can even see a little heart-shaped frame tucked neatly into a corner.

"How nostalgic," Seung-gil says, picking up the nearest picture. 

It's an old one of the four of them, back in their junior days. Yuuri and Phichit are grinning wildly, and even Seung-gil has on a decent smile. 

"We are not immortal, but I've tried my best to immortalize our memories," Otabek replies. "It'd be foolish to forget our youth."

"I expected something like this from Phichit, not you," Seung-gil says. "What other surprises do you have up your sleeve?"

Otabek gestures toward the kitchen. "A fully functioning kitchen with no food. Surprise."

Seung-gil gives Otabek a dead, lifeless stare.

"I see," Seung-gil replies. "I assume this means you want me to go to the store." 

"Thank you for offering." Otabek's tone is an odd mix between smug and gentle. 

Walking towards the door, Seung-gil steps into his shoes and looks knowingly at Otabek. "We're eating Korean tonight."

"There should a be sizable Korean market about six or seven miles away," Otabek says, handing Seung-gil a wad of cash. "You can call for a taxi, or ride the bus."

"Wait," Yuuri calls out, setting down a particularly ornate clock. "Are you going to be okay? It's rather late, and we're not in New York anymore. And with the Director here..."

Seung-gil looks at Yuuri—genuinely looks at Yuuri—and nods slightly. "I have been to St. Petersburg often, and I am not a child. Thank you… for the concern."

Seung-gil usually exits buildings like one would expect a king to exit his throne room. This time it's different. 

The door shuts, and Seung-gil is gone. 

"What is he thinking?" Yuuri whispers. "He better be careful."

Yuuri steps away from a shelf and sinks into one of Otabek's plump loveseats. Unlike the rest of the apartment, which is decorated in shades of gray, the loveseat is a light blue. The assorted picture frames and clocks are colorful too, but barely. 

It strikes him as odd that Otabek would decorate his apartment in gray. From what Yuuri's seen of Otabek's plane, he expected the apartment to be more colorful, if not grander. 

"There's something on your mind."

A statement, not a question. Yuuri looks up to see Otabek in the kitchen, boiling water in a kettle.

"It's nothing," Yuuri replies. "A small curiosity."

"Is it Seung-gil?" Otabek asks. "Because I… I feel guilty as well. He has not been himself, and I can't help but think that I am to blame."

Otabek reaches for a knob on the stove and lowers the heat, right as the water reaches boiling point. Now that Yuuri's gotten a chance to breathe, he takes a closer look at Otabek. 

The man that standing in front of him is different somehow. Tired. Beaten down. There's a slight puffiness under his eyes, and his tidy hair is limp and dull.

"It's me," Yuuri says, huddling close to the loveseat. "It's been me from the minute I arrived in Universe One. I followed Victor; I begged for a favor; I went to court; I helped kill his grandfather. It was me and—" Yuuri's voice cracks, high and breathy. "It was me. That night you visited me in the hospital—I knew it was me. When I sat on the beach in Hasetsu, I knew it was me. Why won't anyone just say something? I know it's me; I knew it was me when I landed in New York, knew it was me because I was meant to drown in that damn ocean. Don't… don't blame yourself. You've been at his side the most."

Otabek's head whips up, his eyes wild and furious. Yuuri had never thought of Otabek as anything other than gentle and perhaps a tad sarcastic, but in that moment, Otabek looks every bit like the cunning heir to his family's fortune.

"No. Never." Otabek's voice is slow, steady even. It doesn't match his wild, wild eyes. "I am tired of the games," he confesses. "When you landed in New York, we never blamed you. And do not think that Seung-gil blames you. He has more to blame me for. And yet, I persist. He's trapped in this city, achingly close to Anya—close enough to touch. I—" Otabek pauses and takes a long breath. "I thought it would be best if he had some time to himself. So that he doesn't have to look at me for a little while."

"No," Yuuri says. "No. If he doesn't blame me, then he can't blame you."

Otabek smiles, but it's is thin and pale, like a waning moon. "We spend more time blaming ourselves than Seung-gil spends blaming us. But I don't think I will stop blaming myself, not for a long time. Even if I am tired of the guilt."

Yuuri has nothing to say. It's hard to deny the truth. 

For a long while, the only sound in the apartment comes from the clocks, all ticking in unison. Yuuri and Otabek stay still and silent as if a single breath could further tilt the Earth's axis. In their minds, it probably could. 

 

  
__________

 

  
It's darker outside than he'd expected. 

Two plastic grocery bags hang from his arms, laden with assorted powders and vegetables. The trip to the store didn't take long, especially not with his Arbitrator speed, but he doesn't want to return. Not yet. 

_St. Petersburg is famous for its street lamps,_ Seung-gil muses. _But there aren't any here._

He doesn't know why he expected there to be any street lamps in this worn down backroad. Maybe he's just gotten too used to expecting things. 

The jars in his bag clink with every movement. He'd tried to search for bulgogi ingredients, or maybe some kimchi, but there was none. It was… odd, to say the least. A Korean market without those two basic ingredients wasn't really a Korean market at all. Instead, store employees had suggested he make "Korean carrot," or whatever it was called. 

If he had never heard of it before, then it wasn't Korean. And Otabek was going to get authentic Korean food, not a Russian modification.

In the end, he'd settled on an easy stir-fry dish, with carrots and daikon radish as a side. It'd been hell to find it all, but the ingredients were Korean, and that was that mattered. 

Seung-gil is about three miles away from Otabek's apartment when the sky begins to rumble. An icy droplet splashes onto his nose as the dim evening erupts. Flashes of lighting scour the sky, shoving the stars aside. The thin sliver of moon is no longer visible, hidden away by a battalion of black clouds. 

"Damn," Seung-gil mumbles as he ducks into a nearby alley. 

The rain is shockingly cold, little pinpricks of icy liquid slashing and stabbing at the worn concrete. Thankfully, large metal window hoods cover most of the alley and Seung-gil manages to escape the frigid rain. 

Reaching into his pocket, Seung-gil takes out his Timepiece and carefully fastens it to this wrist. After two precise taps, the wrist watch's screen lights up, and a popup menu emerges. 

"Detect," Seung-gil whispers. 

The wristwatch pulses and projects a 3D map of his surroundings, complete with little red dots representing his location and the location of others. Two dots labeled 'Yuuri' and 'Otabek' are about three miles away, in an apartment building, just as Seung-gil had suspected. However, his Timepiece also registers two irregular purple dots near his location. 

The sky growls again, and gravity's greedy claws fling down buckets of rain. 

_At this rate,_ Seung-gil observes, _the rain isn't going to stop._

The best option is to traverse along the alleyways and find a shortcut back. But what about those irregular dots? The alleyway that they're in is one that he will eventually have to enter…

Seung-gil narrows his eyes. 

"This is ridiculous," he says. "I am afraid of nothing. Not rain, and surely not some little dots."

The plastic bags in his hand swish as Seung-gil runs from alley to alley. His Timepiece had highlighted a quick path back to Otabek's apartment, but it required an irritating amount of crisscrossing between alleyways. 

By the time Seung-gil reaches the central alley, his coat is damp and his grocery bags are stretched thin, the cans straining against the plastic.

The central alley is darker than the last two. It's the widest one so far and is much more exposed to the rain. The gutters aren't as stable either, and the faded brick walls quiver every time thunder booms. 

"Let's get the hell out of here," Seung-gil mumbles to himself. 

He's about to dash through the alleyway when lightning flashes and illuminates the shadowy corners. 

Two figures, one taller than the other, are positioned close together in a narrow, dark passageway into the alley. 

Seung-gil ducks quickly behind a nearby stack of discarded boxes—close enough to see and hear, but far enough to be undetectable. Lighting flares again, just as Seung-gil sneaks a look over the tower of boxes. 

His eyes widen. 

Black hair. Tan skin. 

Lighting strikes again.

Blue eyes?

"JJ...?" 

It's him. Seung-gil would recognize the hair, the eyes, his face—anywhere. 

If the shorter man is JJ, then who is the other? Seung-gil wonders. Are these two the two purple dots? The unknown non-human presences? 

Seung-gil sneaks another peek. The alley is dark—too dark. As an Arbitrator, Seung-gil is blessed with superhuman vision. And as a member of the acclaimed Lee bloodline, Seung-gil is blessed with extraordinarily good vision—vision better than that of most top class Arbitrators. 

Even with Seung-gil's eyesight, the alley is still too dark. It's an unnatural, rippling darkness, like a living cloud made of smoke and fog. 

"Fancy meeting you here Jean-Jaques," a smooth voice purrs, audible even in the raging storm. "Shouldn't you be busy protecting Her Majesty?"

"We've been over this," JJ says, his tone angry, yet quiet. "She's not a queen. We are not a monarchy. You of all people should know."

"Oh?"

Seung-gil nudges a box aside, focusing intently on the two men. The taller of the two is wearing a heavy cloak that covers his face and any features that might have conveyed his identity. His voice is deep and smooth, with a slight accent Seung-gil can't place. 

JJ, on the other hand, is drenched from head to toe. He's dressed in the Bureau of Justice's uniform for special occasions. It's an ostentatious thing, full of gold accents and shiny buttons, and leaves nothing to the imagination. 

"Why did you call me over here—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" The cloaked man interrupts. "No names! The walls have eyes and ears. We wouldn't want Majesty Dearest to find out about this, would we?" 

JJ gives the man a rough shove and rips a gleaming medal off his jacket's lapels. 

"One call," he says, brandishing the medal like a weapon. "One call, and I can send every officer within a five-mile radius to this alley. Don't test me."

The cloaked man cocks his head to the side. Lighting flashes, and for a split second, Seung-gil can see the man's eye color. 

They're a startling hazel-green. 

The man chuckles. "But you wouldn't. Isn't it all empty threats? You wouldn't risk your position, even if it meant exposing me. Do you still have some hope that you can redeem yourself by climbing the ranks? That somehow the heir to a political empire will see that and take you back? Or are you just after the power now? It's nice sitting in the lap of luxury, isn't it?"

JJ lunges at the man and grasps at his cloak. The medal falls to the ground with a thump, its shiny surface now dirtied by a murky puddle. 

"Why are you like this? We're allies! You and I are the same; we both have duties to the Organization, and we have both served loyally for years! You're letting foolish hopes in some half-hearted wish blind you from what's right, and I'm not going to let you destroy yourself over it!"

The sky yawns and grumbles as thunder and rain ravage St. Petersburg. The only dry things around are the bags of groceries and Seung-gil's Timepiece, which he wraps protectively in his coat. JJ and the cloaked man are arguing viciously, their conversation heated enough for Seung-gil to escape without notice.

He doesn't.

There's a parasitic curiosity squirming in his brain; there are questions upon questions with no answers. Seung-gil can't say that JJ is his favorite person—far from it—but something inside his heart compels him to stay. If not out of concern for JJ's safety, then out of sheer curiosity. 

Seung-gil shakes his head. 

_This must be what Yuuri feels like,_ Seung-gil thinks. _How unpleasant._

If he is forced to wait in St. Petersburg, he might as well make use of his time. Seung-gil's not going to let a golden opportunity go to waste. His grandfather would have never forgiven him if he did. 

The rain is a veil of ice at this point, loudly splashing on the concrete. It distorts sound and visibility, but Seung-gil's senses are just about good enough to get a decent amount of information. He inches the boxes closer to the two men until a sentence stops him in his tracks.

"Has she told you about the Immortals?" 

JJ's head snaps up at the question, and so does Seung-gil's. 

_Immortals?_

"Immortals?" JJ scoffs. "What kinds of things are they making up now?"

The cloaked man laughs, but it's cold and bitter—a breathy cackle. "So she really hasn't told you? Do you not know why you are in this city?"

JJ's lips are set in a grim line. "I am here as part of her guard. Madame Director's birthday is soon, and she wanted to spend some time visiting her aunt, the former Director. That is all."

"So you really don't know! What a startling turn of events. Did she feed her entire guard the same story? Or is it just you?"

_What story? This cloaked man… who is he? To be able to mock the Director without fear of retribution, to be able to ambush JJ in this alley… this is not an ordinary man—not an ordinary Arbitrator. Could he be an elite? A member of the Squadron?_

"Stop the games. What is an Immortal? Tell me truthfully; no lies. No riddles,” JJ demands. 

The cloaked man takes a step back, his posture rigid, feet spread shoulder-length apart.

"An Immortal," he begins, "is not human."

"What then?" JJ says, his voice brimming with aggravation. "A special faction of Arbitrator Elites that Madame Director has been secretly organizing?"

The cloaked man bursts into laughter, and when he speaks, it's with a sardonic humor. "One can wish. No, Immortals are not Arbitrators, nor are they human. They are their own race, with their own laws and their own goals. They are everywhere, but it'd be easier to find them if you looked nowhere. Immortals are beautiful, just like their glittering court—full of jewels and magic and things that last forever."

Thunder booms.

"Your riddles only get better by the day," JJ retorts. "Do you really think that I believe any of this? You do know that once you leave, I'll tell Madame Director everything. I don't agree with everything she does, but it's for our safety and the stability of the Organization. She's why the Organization is stable again; she's the reason why the Upper Circle and the Higher Ups haven't totally seized control. I'm not a brainless follower, G—"

JJ doesn't finish his sentence. The cloaked man has one hand clasped over JJ's mouth, the other pinning him to the alley wall. Shabby brick digs into his sopping jacket. 

"No names," the man says, his voice deep and grim. 

"Damn!" JJ shouts as he rips the cloaked man's arm off of his jacket. "Why the hell are you telling me this? What do you want? I've never gotten in your way, so why now?"

"Not everything is about attaining power, though I suppose you wouldn't know. There will be change soon, dearest Jean-Jacques. Where will you stand? Will you stay loyal to her? Or will you open your eyes and learn the truth?"

"What truth?"

The cloaked man reaches in his cloak and produces a thin, silvery object. A pen.

Handing it to JJ, he says, "Take it."

"This is an emergency scythe."

"It is," the cloaked man replies. "I'm sure you recognize this one."

"This is an emergency scythe," JJ repeats. "But this particular scythe…"

"You recognize it, don't you? Magnificent, isn't it?"

JJ's hands tremble. "This is the scythe Yuuri Katsuki used to perform a Lapse across the Atlantic. Why do you have it? How?"

"As I have said before. Not everything is about attaining power; not everything is as peaceful and clear as she makes it appear. It's more on the… foggy side of things. So which side will you choose? All you need to do is destroy that pen. One crack and I'll know that you want to meet. There are things that you don't know yet—things about the Organization, things about Yuuri Katsuki. Did you feel even a shred of guilt when you fetched him like a loyal dog?"

"It was necessary," JJ admits, his hands squeezed into fists. "I had to; it was necessary."

"Don't lie through your teeth," the cloaked man says, although his voice is much softer and much kinder. "Consider my offer."

"I..."

JJ trails off, and the storm renews its assault on the skies. Seung-gil's groceries, though once neat and dry, have suffered some rain damage. Any longer, and they'll be inedible mush. Thunder booms again, and Seung-gil knows that he's overstayed his welcome. Under the cover of the clouds and the noise of the storm, Seung-gil dashes out the alley, groceries hanging off his arm once more. 

He's quiet, blending in with the inky darkness of the alley. There are no shouts of surprise, no signs that he had ever been in that alley in the first place. 

The three miles back to Otabek's apartment vanish in the blink of an eye.

 

  
___________

 

  
Seung-gil bursts through the door, soggy groceries in hand. He's soaked, disheveled, with what looks like dirt and mud stains on his coat. 

_He left to get groceries,_ Yuuri thinks. _What is going on?_

Yuuri is about to voice his thoughts when Seung-gil suddenly rushes at him and grabs him by the shoulders. 

"JJ is here."

"Wait, what? I mean the odds of him being here aren't impossible—"

"No!" Seung-gil interrupts, his breaths deep and ragged. "It was in an alley. There was a cloaked figure huddled there with him, and they were discussing Immortals. The cloaked figure seemed to be a higher up—an elite, or perhaps even a member of the Squadron."

"Immortals?" Otabek inquires. 

"Immortals—not human, not Arbitrator. Something else. They have a court, jewels and—" Seung-gil pauses and stares at Yuuri, "—they have magic."

"Magic," Yuuri whispers. The room seems to hold its breath. "Not human, not Arbitrator. An in-between. Victor Nikiforov."

"The man with silver hair," Otabek says. 

The puzzle pieces begin to form and take shape in Yuuri's mind. Victor Nikiforov. Magic. The fog. His speed. The cryptic words and knowledge on the inner workings of the Organization.

"Victor Nikiforov told me two things that day," Yuuri says. "The first was that there were more like him, more in-betweens. More Immortals. The second was that he was the opposite of me."

Yuuri looks around the room and meets Seung-gil's eyes. "That name... Immortals..."

"The blond boy," Otabek says suddenly. "The one that that frequented St. Petersburg years ago. The one that never seemed to age. Perhaps the name…" 

"I’ll trust you to explain what you mean by ‘the blond boy’ later, Otabek. This is a much more pressing matter. If what Nikiforov said is true, then they might as well be truly immortal," Seung-gil suggests. "Magic and immortality versus technology and long life. Immortals versus Arbitrators. Who would win?"

"That is of no importance," Otabek says. "You arrive half-drowned, spurting news of a cloaked man and JJ, of all Arbitrators. Where were you, Seung-gil?"

Seung-gil peels of his wet coat and uncovers his wristwatch. There's not a drop of water on it.

"My Timepiece detected two irregular signatures in an alley. I stumbled upon their conversation, and I wasn't about to let information slip through my fingers."

"Did you hear anything else?" Yuuri asks. "About who the cloaked man is, or anything about the Clockmaster?"

"My databases?" Otabek adds.

"No," Seung-gil replies. "The cloaked man insisted on 'no names', although he referred to JJ as Jean-Jacques quite often. There was only a mention of jewels and a court. Nothing else."

Yuuri bites his lips and fiddles with his hands. 

"Then what do we do? We're stuck here for a week, we can't get the Lidbreaker to Phichit, and now we definitely know that the Director is here. This new information… why haven't we heard of it until now? What is the Organization hiding?"

Seung-gil's smile is more like a snarl. "What isn't Anya hiding? She's a genius built on lies and lipstick."

Otabek frowns. "Anya is too close. Be wary, Seung-gil."

"I am politically and socially untouchable," Seung-gil replies. "Especially so soon after Grandfather's death."

"Seung-gil…" Yuuri starts.

"I want Anya to get her claws off the investigation, and I will do anything, anything to see it happen. What lies she's been spreading, what secrets she's been keeping—I'll know them all. We’ll return to New York soon, but if we are to be stuck here for the time being, then I will follow any lead I find."

Seung-gil's eyes gleam, and his face transforms from stoic to smug. "I should thank that cloaked man. It's a shame that the rain was so thick.The only thing that I was able to see were his eyes and nothing more."

"Go bathe," Otabek says, interrupting Seung-gil's rant. "There is mud on my floor. We can discuss this at a later date. Bathe and then we will eat."

Seung-gil narrows his eyes but doesn't argue. 

_Seung-gil hasn't argued against Otabek for a while,_ Yuuri thinks.

"Fine."

 

  
__________

 

  
They last three days before someone snaps. Naturally, that someone is Seung-gil. 

Otabek relents. Even he's tired of being cooped up in the apartment. Besides, there's a festival in town—the perfect excuse to venture outside. 

The sky is calm today, a brilliant blue peppered with downy clouds. It's peaceful, windy, and perfect, and Yuuri can't find it in himself to ruin the day's fun. He's tired of the apartment too. 

Seung-gil had pushed for returning early since the weather had lifted and all, but the soonest they could leave was tomorrow. Airports and plane tickets were always a hassle, and even with the types of connections available between them, there were much more prominent, human figures that required an earlier flight. 

"What's the festival for?" Yuuri asks, splashing his face with water. 

"Does it matter?" Seung-gil replies. "At least we can finally go outside."

Otabek sighs and slips on his shoes. "The White Night Festival—a celebration of Russian culture and music. There is also a carnival at night and a celebration. Although it isn't quite evening yet, I believe that we deserve some time to go sightseeing. Remember to proceed with caution and don't cause trouble."

"That's right," Yuuri adds. "Anya's guard are closer than we had previously believed."

"I will carry one of the communication bands, and you will carry the other," Otabek says, handing the band to Yuuri. "Do not, under any circumstances, lose it."

It's more stylish than it appears. The black band on his wrist is sleek and gleaming.

"I won't," Yuuri promises. 

"Good," Seung-gil says. 

The door is halfway open by this point, and a small breeze blows into the apartment.

Yuuri tugs on his shoes and pushes the door open further. "Let's go."

 

  
__________

 

  
Nothing good comes from weather this perfect, Yuuri thinks.

It feels wrong.

The small park that they're in is crowded, no doubt from people waiting for the evening carnival to begin. As the sun slowly melts away, streaks of orange and gold stain the evening sky. The slight breeze that blows through is refreshingly gentle; this evening should be immaculate. 

The evening is shaping up to be an immaculate disaster. 

Otabek seems… off, somehow. 

Yuuri's caught him looking into space at least twice. Both times, he'd felt an odd uneasiness pervading his senses. It seemed to be nothing more than just paranoia, and Otabek had assured him that’s all it was. 

Seung-gil had seemed troubled as well, but that dissipated fairly quickly. 

They stroll along for some time, with Yuuri in the lead and Otabek and Seung-gil to the side. Summer is evident in the greenness of the grass and the blooming flowers; ancient trees towered over them and block the melting sun.

Seung-gil rushes them out of the park, under the pretense that they would get distracted and miss the carnival, but Yuuri isn't fooled. The sooner they arrive, the less they’ll have to wait. 

Seung-gil is a child in the sense that he hates waiting and being second best. Lines aren't really his thing (they aren't Otabek's either, but at least he can be an adult about it), so it was always best to arrive early. An irritable Seung-gil would make life difficult for everyone.

Yuuri distinctly recalls a popular rumor back in their Arbitrator Academy days. Apparently there'd been an incident of a fellow classmate bad-mouthing Seung-gil behind his back. That particular classmate was gone the next day. Yuuri had never asked Seung-gil about the incident—at least, not straight up to his face—and Seung-gil had never brought it up. Still, it was in everyone's best interest to not piss him off. He'd mellowed out a lot from his junior days, but Seung-gil still held a moderate amount of life-ruining power. 

The carnival is near the park (thankfully) so the walk doesn't last long. It's more crowded than Yuuri had expected, with crowds weaving and bobbing their way past one other like schools of colorful fish. 

Beside him, Otabek stops and stares. The festival lights are stunning. Fluorescent and glowing, they shower the scene with swaths of colors in all hues. They dangle from street lamps and hang off buildings like neon ivy, creating patterns of all shapes and sizes. In the distance, Yuuri can see large carriages filled with people of varying ages. 

"Beautiful," he whispers. 

Turning his head, Yuuri can see Otabek and Seung-gil, both equally mesmerized by the lights and the carriages. 

"It has been years," Otabek says. "It's still as beautiful as I last remembered."

"Good," Seung-gil replies. "I suppose this delay isn't a complete waste of time."

"You know, it's strange that it's still so bright out," Yuuri says. "The sun seems to have stopped setting. It's evening now, but still as bright out as a late afternoon."

"The name of the festival is 'White Nights.' It's a phenomenon that occurs here—even well after midnight, the sky doesn't turn any darker," Otabek says. "It lasts for about a month, from late May to early July. The brightest nights are later in June, so unfortunately, we will see a dimmer evening."

Yuuri smiles. "It's still beautiful, isn't it? Should we go explore the sights now?"

His earlier feelings of discomfort have been shoved down. There's no use in worrying about vague feelings here and there, especially not with such a bright carnival surrounding him. And judging from Otabek's soft smile, he feels the same. 

"The history re-enactments look interesting," Seung-gil says, pointing at actors in period clothing. "I, for one, am going to go see."

Seung-gil marches off in that direction with solid steps and his head held high. He's dressed from head to toe in luxury branding, his Timepiece glittering on his wrist. Yet, in the middle of this loud, chaotic festival, Seung-gil looks like he belongs in the picture. 

"Are we going to join him?" Yuuri asks, turning around to face Otabek. Oddly enough, he isn't there.

"What?" a voice in front of him asks. Otabek is already ahead of Yuuri, making his way towards Seung-gil. "I believe that you are the one who needs to join us."

Yuuri sighs and jogs slowly towards Otabek. Seung-gil is just ahead, transfixed by the re-enactment play. 

"The costumes are so detailed," Yuuri murmurs, starstruck. "They're exquisite, Otabek."

There's no response. 

"Otabek?"

Otabek isn't even looking Yuuri's way. Instead, he's facing the opposite direction, his eyes wide with what seems like shock and fear all at once. 

"Is there something wrong?" Yuuri asks, glancing at the spot Otabek had been staring at. "Did you see something?"

"No," Otabek says, shaking his head. "I don't believe so. It was just a flash of blond hair and a pair of green eyes. I am overreacting. It's illogical to believe that only Immortals have blond hair and green eyes."

"Is this about that boy? The one that frequented St. Petersburg?"

"Yes, but it could have been anyone."

Yuuri and Otabek stand silently, mulling over the possibilities. They only stop when Seung-gil marches up in front of them with his brows arched and his lips pursed. 

"Yuuri," Seung-gil says, his eyes darting behind him every so often. "Did the silver haired man, the Immortal, have blue eyes as well?"

Yuuri stares at Seung-gil, mouth half-open. "How did you know that? Did you see someone?"

Seung-gil turns and scans the crowd before facing Yuuri again. "I saw a tall man with silver hair and blue eyes. He was only a few feet from me, next to a boy with blond hair and green eyes. I'm sure that it's him."

"Seung-gil," Otabek says. "You have a tendency to not think your plans through. Have you considered the fact that it might be a trick of the light? Hair dye? Contacts?"

Seung-gil reaches for his left arm and removes his Timepiece in two clean motions. "My Timepiece deals with electrical signatures and is impossible to fool. Those two were not human, and certainly not Arbitrators. No-one relevant enough to be in St. Petersburg at this time has dyed their hair silver, and I doubt that Anya would ever let her precious guard dye their hair.”

"Where are they now?" Yuuri demands. 

He can feel his blood boiling again, itching to search for Victor. 

"He's over there," Seung-gil says, motioning to a few stands placed near a faint street lamp. "He and the blond boy—they're leaning against the street lamp."

Seung-gil barely has time to finish his sentence before Otabek takes off sprinting. 

"I apologize for interrupting you," Otabek calls back. "But this is urgent."

Seung-gil furrows his eyebrows, but dashes toward Otabek at a breakneck speed, flying and weaving past carriages and people alike. 

Yuuri soon joins in on the chase, his coat billowing behind him as he rushes to catch up to Seung-gil. By the time he's caught up, Otabek is about ready to corner both Victor and the blond boy. 

"Otabek, it's my job to be the irrational one," Yuuri says, tugging Otabek back. "Let's stay calm and not rush right in. Please? I… I can't rush in again. Not after last time. Please." 

"Yuuri. I am aware. However…"

Otabek's eyes are full of agitation, but also brimming with curiosity. "I have waited years for a moment like this. With the new, sudden turn of events, I believe that these Immortals hold answers to some of our questions."

"You had questions once," Seung-gil adds. "I assume that you still have them now. Though even if you don't, I have questions."

Otabek nods, and disappears, his body melting into the air.

"He's faster," Seung-gil states, moderately impressed. It doesn't take long before he's gone as well, forcing Yuuri to catch up yet again. 

Yuuri grits his teeth and wipes away a stray tear. His eyes sting, both from the wind and from the fear.

He doesn't know if he can do this again, doesn't know how or what or why. He wants to support Seung-gil and Otabek, and he still wants answers, but it's only been a few weeks since the trail. 

Yuuri shakes his head and pushes on, as fast as his limits allow. He's not going back to that courtroom. He's not going back to those mahogany doors. Otabek and Seung-gil aren't themselves now, and it's up to him to support them. But whatever happens, he's not going back. 

Just ahead of him, Seung-gil abruptly changes direction, dashing and weaving against the crowd.

Yuuri follows. 

Victor and the blond boy haven't moved. The quiet space they're in feels somewhat removed from the festival, and none of the neon lights reach there either. 

Otabek is only a few meters away, waiting for Yuuri and Seung-gil to catch up. 

Judging from Victor's relaxed back, he hasn't detected them.

Or he's pretending not to. 

"Based on your earlier accounts," Otabek says, his voice a hushed whisper, "Victor Nikiforov seems to permit polite conversation. We will approach him with discretion."

Yuuri nods. 

"Very well," Seung-gil says. "I'll make sure my best 'member of the nobility' face is on."

"We're a bureaucracy," Yuuri reminds. "But you're right. Chances are, he's a part of the Immortal court. The blond boy as well. I'll announce myself first since I've met him before."

Yuuri strides ahead with an air of confidence, pushing down the anxiety that threatens to bubble over. 

_I have to breathe,_ Yuuri thinks, clenching his fists. _I have to breathe. Don't shake; don't shake; don't shake._

"Hello, Victor Nikiforov. What a pleasant surprise."

Victor whips around so quickly that Yuuri had thought that he stumbled. The blond boy by his side rises as well and gives Yuuri a chafing stare.

"Who are you?" the boy asks, his haughty stare more piercing than any of the festival's lights. "Victor, explain yourself. Who is this?"

Victor really does look surprised. _I thought he would have noticed me._

"This is Yuuri Katsuki, Highness. An Arbitrator Elite."

_Highness? Is this boy a prince?_

"I have no use for Arbitrators," the boy (the prince?) says. "You may leave. Dismissed."

"Forgive me, Highness, but I have use for you. If you would be so kind as to answer our questions?"

Yuuri resists the urge to groan. This is not the time for Seung-gil's superiority complex to suddenly resurface.

"Seung-gil," Otabek warns. "You were not supposed to reveal yourself."

"Oh? Who are you two?" the prince asks. "More Arbitrator Elites?"

Seung-gil is wholly unimpressed. Stepping out from the shadows, he strides toward the two Immortals with a haughty sneer plastered across his face. 

The blond prince opens his mouth to speak—no doubt to make another condescending comment—when Otabek walks into the light as well. 

"You—!" 

Otabek stares. "Do you know who I am?"

"I've seen you over the years," the prince says, his tone somewhat… softer. More diplomatic. Less arrogant. "I had previously believed that you were a human businessman. Who would have known that you were an Arbitrator?"

Otabek pauses, then steps toward the prince. Almost immediately, Victor pushes in front of the prince, his arm halting Otabek's movements.

"Your Highness, that is enough. Go back. I will handle this," Victor says. 

The prince clicks his tongue and turns away. "Don't command me to do anything again, Victor. Hurry and return after you're done."

The prince leaps into the air and is gone. 

Yuuri doesn't even see a blur. _Is the prince just that fast? Or was that a display of their rumored magic?_

"What business do you have with him?" Victor asks, shifting his gaze to Otabek. "He's only fifteen years old, after all. Certainly not old enough to be part of some long-winded Arbitrator conflict."

Otabek relaxes and steps back. "It is more of a long-winded curiosity, though I did not know that he was a prince."

"We know that you are an Immortal," Seung-gil interrupts. "And judging from your relationship with that prince, you must be a noble as well. Answer me: what is your relationship with the Organization?"

 _Seung-gil's impatience will be our demise_ , Yuuri thinks. "Seung-gil—"

"I have none," Victor responds, his eyes the color of chipped ice. "But I do not speak for the rest of my court. Your revelations and your problems do not concern me."

Victor turns and faces Yuuri, his mouth set in a grim line. "I believe that I've already expressed my desire not to meet again, Yuuri Katsuki."

"You are much less pleasant than I had imagined," Seung-gil interrupts. "I suppose that I will have to be the cordial one here. A pleasure to meet you, Victor Nikiforov; I am Seung-gil Lee, and this," Seung-gil pauses and gestures toward Otabek, "is Otabek Altin. It would be an even greater pleasure if you were to answer my question in all seriousness."

Seung-gil's tone is hard, devoid of even pride and contempt. 

He's serious. The mask is off.

"I do know some things," Victor says, a smirk dancing on his lips. "But do not have the time, nor the urge to reveal them. As I have told Yuuri Katsuki before, let's not meet again. I will extend that to you as well, Otabek Altin, Seung-gil Lee."

Victor lifts up his hand to brush back a strand of hair. "Do not approach me, or his Highness again."

Victor glares at Yuuri one last time before leaping away and vanishing under a thick coat of fog. 

_It's just as disorienting as the last time_ , Yuuri thinks. 

"Fog? This is their magic, then? How inconvenient," Seung-gil says. "Where are you, Otabek? Yuuri?"

Yuuri stumbles in the hazy mist and nearly trips over Otabek. 

"Steady," Otabek says, grabbing onto Yuuri's arm. "Are you alright?"

Yuuri sighs, shaking off Otabek's grip. "I'm fine."

A hand grasps onto Yuuri's shoulder. He screams, hand automatically reaching for a scythe he doesn't possess.

"The hell?" a voice whispers into his ear. "It's Seung-gil; stop screaming."

"Don't sneak up on me next time," Yuuri requests. 

The fog is still thick, with no sign of Victor. Seung-gil scoffs and narrows his eyes. Anger rolls off of him in hot waves.

"This is it," Yuuri says, eyes downcast. "He's untraceable, his fog impenetrable by even our eyes. Let's go back to New York, Seung-gil. Whatever answers he holds isn't worth the price."

"What if they are worth the price? What then?"

"Seung-gil, please—"

"No."

"No," Otabek says again. "You cannot use your Timepiece to locate Victor, Seung-gil."

"And why not?" Seung-gil asks. "Why not?"

"Because we are not fast enough! How do you propose that we catch him? With Yuuri's Lapse?"

Yuuri is shocked speechless. Otabek doesn't raise his voice and hasn't so for a long time. To see him this angry—

"Perhaps," Seung-gil says. "This is the favor that you owe me, Yuuri."

"Seung-gil, this is completely unreasonable. Ask for another favor. Yuuri's life is not a game."

Seung-gil's face is hard and stony, unrelenting. 

"It's not a game, Otabek. Time is slipping through our fingers as we stand idly by," Seung-gil declares and turns to Yuuri. "My Timepiece should be able to locate Nikiforov. When you find him, convince him; tell him that we ought to be allies. Keep Otabek's communication device with you. We will return to New York and open the box while you investigate the Immortals from the inside. It is probable that Anya has her foul claws all over this situation."

"Yet again, Seung-gil, you are being irresponsibly unreasonable. Your plans are always reckless and flawed; what if Nikiforov refuses? We no longer have the means to protect Yuuri from Anya."

Otabek pauses and breathes in deeply. 

"Your plans are always like this. Even back in the Academy—"

"Are you going to hand over the communication band or not?" Seung-gil demands. "The risks are necessary. I know Anya has something up her sleeve—something with the potential to bring the Organization to its knees. That witch never does anything without a reason. JJ, a mysterious cloaked man, Immortals, Grandfather, the Scythes Squadron—these players have appeared on the board much too quickly in rapid succession. It is our move to make, and we would be fools to skip our turn so early on in the match."

"There is no need to chase after Nikiforov," Otabek argues. "He and that prince are too powerful—"

"And that is precisely the reason why we must!" Seung-gil insists. "It is a necessary risk—"

"You enjoy being a chess-master too much, Seung-gil. I am your ally, not your subordinate! Yuuri is not a pawn at your disposal, and neither am I—"

Seung-gil clenches his fists and looks down at Otabek. Their height difference isn't much—Seung-gil is only about an inch taller—but any advantage is welcome in arguments like these.

"You are not a pawn, but I expected a genius to be much more tactically sound than this," Seung-gil says. "This is ridiculous—"

"Forgive me, but you are the ridiculous one—"

Otabek and Seung-gil are at each other's throats… literally. Seung-gil could easily reach up and make a grab for Otabek's throat, and judging from the way his fingers are twitching, Seung-gil seems to be entertaining the idea. Seung-gil may be the more violent of the two, but Otabek looks only inches from crossing the line himself. His jaw is clenched and looks about ready to fling Yuuri over his shoulder and make a run for it.

Yuuri is just as annoyed; it is after all, somewhat rude to ignore the person that you are passionately arguing about. 

"Stop!" he yells, tugging both Otabek and Seung-gil apart. "I'll do it! Just stop fighting. I'll do it. Besides… we've wasted enough time arguing."

"Yuuri, despite what Seung-gil says… you are not obligated to do this."

Yuuri smile is weak and pale, much like the color of his face. Seung-gil slips his Timepiece off his wrist and hands it to Yuuri. 

"You're shaking," Seung-gil says. 

_It's not a question, not even a worried statement. Just an observation. The sky is blue. Phichit's favorite sitcom is The Big Bang Theory. I'm shaking because this decision could horribly backfire and I could be sentenced to a lifetime of misery_ , Yuuri thinks. 

He reaches for the Timepiece and carefully secures it around his right wrist. Otabek's communication device rests comfortably on the other. 

"Once I have transferred ownership of the Timepiece over to you, it should respond to your voice commands," Seung-gil says. "Try not to break it. I assume that you know how to use it?"

"We will contact you later, Yuuri," Otabek adds. "Be careful."

Seung-gil nods. "I, Seung-gil Lee, transfer my Timepiece to Yuuri Katsuki. May it serve him well."

"I, Yuuri Katsuki, graciously accept this transfer."

"One last time," Otabek says. "Yuuri—"

"I've decided, Otabek. I know it's impossible to be pardoned twice, but I have faith that something will work out." Yuuri smiles again and it's stronger this time, more genuine. Hopeful. "I think I've found a way to really be of use," he continues. "I'll do it, and find a way to fix it—fix the mess I made. It was me, you know. I was the one who caused everything to fall apart."

Yuuri reaches into his pocket and pulls out his own Timepiece. The pocket watch's golden face reflects the soft light from nearby street lamps. The shiny glass is cool to the touch.

"I'm sorry," Seung-gil says. 

Yuuri laughs, but it isn't cold or sarcastic. It's simply… free. "Maybe we've all spent more time apologizing for our mistakes than actually fixing them. I'll support you, to the best of my ability. It's a little presumptuous of me to force an apology from you, of all people."

Yuuri turns around and whispers something into Seung-gil's Timepiece. By now, most of the fog has already dissipated, leaving behind cool layers of misty air. 

"He seems to have stopped," Yuuri says. "Victor is about 87 miles—140 kilometers—away from here. I should be able to… to use a Lapse to get there."

"Very well," Seung-gil says. 

Otabek adds, “Thank you. From the both of us.”

 

  
__________

 

 

When Yuuri forces through a time gate for the second time since his return, a crawling sense of dread wraps itself around his chest. 

Seung-gil's Timepiece (Yuuri refuses to call it his; Seung-gil is simply loaning it out to him) beeps once, indicating Victor's proximity to Yuuri. 

It was easier to open up a Lapse this time around. Yuuri doesn't know if it's because London is better protected than St. Petersburg, or if it's because he's more accustomed to Universe One than before. Either way, it's still an advantage. If Victor decides to run again, then Yuuri will need everything he’s got.

The two Timepieces at his disposal will only get him so far. Seung-gil's is extraordinarily helpful but limited, and it's already been pushed to the brink of its abilities. Furthermore, Yuuri's experience with Timepieces is mostly limited to his own; even then, he's a Field Arbitrator. Seung-gil has never set foot outside of Universe One. Their fields of specialty are vastly different. Seung-gil is the one best suited to handle his Timepiece, and no-one else. 

"What should I do?" Yuuri mumbles, crouching behind the corner of a store. "How did Victor even find this small town anyways?"

Glancing around, all Yuuri can see are buildings of a uniform height, size, and color. The paint on most buildings is dull and flaky, and the streets are eerily silent. 

"The air is still," Yuuri murmurs, clenching his shaking fists. "I just need to calm down. There's no way I can engage with Victor in this state." 

Seung-gil's Timepiece, along with discovering electrical signatures and hidden presences, can be used to cover up one's own presence as well. It buys Yuuri valuable time, but for how long, he doesn't know. 

Peeking out from behind the corner, Yuuri spots Victor resting on a stone bench beneath a tree. He's slumped against the back of the bench and breathing heavily, one arm over his eyes.

 _He must be exhausted_ , Yuuri thinks. _He hasn't sensed my presence at all._

Yuuri steps out from the building he'd previously been crouching behind. With a few careful, quiet strides, he's soon standing about four meters away from Victor.

_Being an Arbitrator really is convenient._

"I know that you're there, Yuuri Katsuki. I can hear you."

Victor removes his arm, sits upright on the bench, and attempts to drag a smirk over his lips. It comes off as more of a weak twitch. 

"Do you really insist on playing this game?" Victor asks. "You've cornered me when I'm at my weakest. Have you no shame?"

Yuuri shakes his head. "I didn't come here to fight you. I'm weaponless."

Victor laughs. 

"People aren't very inclined to speak to you if your first sentence to them is a lie. Did you believe that concealing the scythe would comfort me?"

"I have my Timepiece back—that is, the technology that top Arbitrators can use to open a Lapse," Yuuri says. "I don't need an emergency scythe; they drain your strength faster. But I'm telling the truth. I don't want to fight."

"I have no interest in Arbitrators," Victor says. "Though the fact that one of your infuriating devices managed to locate me… how maddening. But if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: I do not wish to associate myself with Arbitrators. Leave."

Yuuri doesn't speak, and instead, reaches for his pocket watch. He tosses it at Victor, who plucks it from the air with a single hand. 

"What is this? Your pocket watch?" Victor asks. "I do not see why—"

"Just listen to me for a second," Yuuri pleads. "The pocket watch is to prove that I'm sincere."

Yuuri breathes in deeply once. Twice. Three times. There's steel in his eyes and a pounding in his heart, but there's a good feeling too. Arbitrators might not be the biggest fans of fate, but right now, there's something inside of Yuuri that sings. He can do this, for himself and for the team. He’s not going back, so he can’t fail.

"There's unrest in the Organization right now, and Immortals are right in the middle of it," Yuuri says. "Someone is attempting to seize power; the Director, Anya, is uncontrollable, and there are too many branches and factions that are divided and confused. There are rumors that could threaten Immortals' existence, and the unsteady balance of power within the Organization could collapse, causing shockwaves across Universe One and all the other universes. If there is a full-on power struggle within the Organization, then Immortals will inevitably be pulled into it as well!"

 _I really hope he bought that_ , Yuuri thinks. _Truthfully, I don't know too much about the current situation, but there's definitely more than one agenda out there. And Anya isn't necessarily the golden princess of the Organization either._

"If what you are saying is true, then what do you propose we do? What do you want from me, Yuuri Katsuki? My court detests the Arbitrator Elite, especially that bothersome Director of yours. How could an Arbitrator conflict affect us?"

"We keep all the universes in order!" Yuuri yells, stomping up to Victor. "Can't you see that? We keep the universes from collapsing in on themselves, and by extension, keep you from being annihilated by some freak accident across universes! You care about your people, and I care about mine. There's something that my team and I want; there's a mystery waiting to be solved. The Director and the rest of the Organization are not our allies."

Yuuri looks Victor dead in the eye, and then bows, back straight, head down. "I've already used two Lapses to track you down. I'm probably considered a criminal or renegade at this point, and if I were to be captured, I would be useless. Please… please allow me to request this… grant me amnesty from the Organization."

Yuuri breaks out of his bow and looks directly at Victor.

"Victor, please become my ally!"

"You are essentially saying that you are now an enemy of your Organization and that you wish to for us to aid you in whatever quest you have planned?" Victor asks. "If your Organization is in such turmoil, then I suppose that Immortals could be affected as well. But surely, isn't it more dangerous to bring you into our court?"

"I'm not an Arbitrator Elite, or part of the SCYS anymore," Yuuri says. "I'm barely even an Arbitrator, and they probably don't recognize me as such anymore. Don't worry about my loyalties; they lie with my team and my team only. And my team are not the Director's friends. If you become my ally, then you'll be part of my team too, Victor. I ask this of you because I know that there are too many plots within the Organization for my team to handle alone and because I know that someone has been spreading classified information about Immortals."

Yuuri stretches out an arm out to Victor. "I will protect you and your people if you will protect mine."

Victor's eyes, blue like a summer sea, sparkle for just a moment. "Why should I not accept someone unaffiliated with Arbitrators? I agree, Yuuri Katsuki, to your demands. You are well aware of what I wish in return, no? Will it be a pleasure to work with you?"

Yuuri smiles. "I'll make sure that it is. Welcome to the team, Victor Nikiforov."

"For the people who dream under the same star," Victor says, placing his hand in Yuuri's.

"For the people that defy the stars," Yuuri replies. "Thank you."

Victor smiles. "Are we not part of the same team now? What stars did I defy?"

Yuuri smiles earnestly and grips Victor's hand tightly. "Nonetheless, thank you. Thank you, Victor Nikiforov."

"You’re welcome, Yuuri Katsuki."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite some time, hasn't it? Thankfully, I'm back and ready to provide you with more chapters! As always, please review (it really does help with inspiration, I kid you not)! And to answer all those pressing questions: yes, Victor will now be a common occurrence and _yes_ the Victuuri will now begin to flourish. Thank you for reading and look forward to more Yuri Plisetsky in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please review and make me a happy dumpling! I'd love to hear thoughts and recommendations!
> 
> Tumbr: [xuan-time](https://xuan-time.tumblr.com/) and [xuan-timewrite](https://xuan-timewrite.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And also: [Absolutely stunning fanart for Chapter 3](https://maclaeroni.tumblr.com/post/157985712817/fan-art-for-chapter-3-of-lampadaires-sous-la) by [maclaeroni](https://maclaeroni.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! It's truly amazing and I'm eternally grateful for such talent. 
> 
> Thank you to raelatte on tumblr for including this fic on their [super cool recc list complete with gorgeous title font!](http://raelatte.tumblr.com/post/158512763480/i-needed-practice-and-fanfiction-titles-seemed-to)


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